


A Dragon's Roar

by Spectre4hire



Series: The Spare Dragon [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Aerys and Rhaella have a son after Rhaegar before Viserys, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Divergence - Robert's Rebellion, F/M, Joanna lives, No Twincest, Not For Rhaegar Fans, OC pov character, Oc is Daeron Targaryen, One-Sided Attraction, POV Multiple, Pre-A Game of Thrones, Targaryen family drama, what if
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-16
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-03 02:39:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 69,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12739320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spectre4hire/pseuds/Spectre4hire
Summary: As a second born son, Prince Daeron Targaryen thought he understood his role, but with his father spiraling into madness and his brother chasing prophecies, Daeron realized the future of his family depended on him, forging a path to the title 'Daeron the Defiant.' It won't be Robert's Rebellion, but a second Dance of Dragons.





	1. 273 AC: Life and Death

**Author's Note:**

> This story is over on fanfic.net, and thought I'd put it on this site too in case there was any interest.

273 AC

Cersei:

It was an ugly little thing. Cersei Lannister thought, looking down at it in the crib.

She was alone in its chambers. She had no difficulty dismissing the maids, who had the misfortune of taking care of this creature. She understood how to apply the threat of her family's name or her father to get what she wanted.

And right now it was to be alone and undisturbed with this thing.

After all, she was a lioness of the Rock, and she wouldn't allow the word no to be told to her.

It was in a lion's nature to rule not submit.

Less than two weeks had passed since this monster saw the light of day. News had already spread of its deformities and hideousness throughout the Westerlands. While some claimed it had already reached the capital and the king's ear. She had overheard some of the gossip from the guards and servants who had come from Lannisport and how the small folk had already dubbed this thing, Tywin's Bane, The Doom of Lannister.

How dare they, Cersei had quietly seethed upon hearing this. She made sure to note which ones had said what so that those who would utter such disrespect towards her family would be properly punished.

"You will not be my father's bane."

The thing burbled, looking up at her with mismatched eyes of green and black.

She wanted to shudder at the hideousness of it, but she didn't. She wouldn't allow this thing to affect her.

"You're no Lannister," she told the small ugly thing that resembled an infant. "You don't deserve the name Lannister, but monster."

And it was a monster, she took in its ugly appearance. It was a dwarf, its head larger than its small, weak body, a jutting forehead, mismatched eyes, stubby legs, and coarse hair of black and blond.

"You can't be my brother," she said, after inspecting its features. She already had a brother, a twin, Jaime, her mirror image, with golden blond hair, and emerald green eyes. He was worthy of being her brother, a Lannister, not this thing. Cersei didn't want to be compared to this dwarf. She didn't want to be seen with it. She would be laughed at, and ridiculed by everyone.

"It isn't fair!" She hissed down at the oblivious dwarf. "If the gods are just you'll die soon enough."

"Cersei Lannister!" Standing in the doorway was her mother, Joanna Lannister, garbed in crimson and gold, resonating strength and looking regal even after only giving birth less than two weeks ago. She stood tall and proud, like a true Lady of the Rock.

"Mother," she was quick to greet her, silently wondering how much her mother had heard.

If her mother had heard anything she wasn't quick to comment on it. "Why aren't you with your brother and our guests?" She swept into the room, her crimson and gold robes flowing behind her.

"I don't like them." Cersei knew better then to lie to her mother. She always seemed to know when she did.

"That's your father talking," A touch of amusement seeped into her tone.

Cersei perked up at that, pleased at the comparison to her father.

"Prince Oberyn could someday be your husband."

Never! Cersei wanted to scream. Father, promised me Prince Rhaegar. Remembering her private conversations with him. There father had told her of his plan. It was their little secret, he even favored her a small, but proud smile afterwards. Cersei was determined not to fail him.

She let out a tut of disappointment at Cersei's silence. "You bring no honor to our house sulking in the shadows." She made her way to the crib where the creature was residing.

"I'm not sulking," Cersei argued, offended at the notion that she had dishonored her house. She would never do that, surely mother knew that. "I just don't like the Prince or Princess."

Joanna Lannister didn't reply instead she tended to that dwarf. Fussing over him as if he was actually her son, and not some monster, some mistake that never should've seen the light of day.

This thing has shamed House Lannister not me, Cersei thought bitterly.

"Your brother has gotten along rather well with them," Her mother observed, "I've seen him spar with Prince Oberyn and walk with Princess Elia along the beach."

Nice try, mother. Cersei wouldn't go after the bait. Mother wanted some sort of reaction from her, to scowl, or shout, or curse or complain, but Cersei wouldn't do any of that. Jaime, her brother was no longer what she cherished most.

Mother had started her down that realization. When she had caught Cersei and Jaime being together, she had stopped them at once, keeping an eye on both of them, and putting as much distance as she could between their living quarters. At first, Cersei had been upset with mother for doing this. Knowing her mother couldn't understand because she wasn't a twin. She didn't realize how close it made her and Jaime. How they were two halves of one whole. How they entered the world together. They were meant to be together.

That anger towards her mother was soon turned towards Jaime in the following weeks when she and Jaime suddenly found themselves going down different paths. They use to be inseparable, attending lessons with their maester, playing on the beach, traveling to Lannisport, but that all changed. Jaime had different lessons now. He was being taught how to rule and fight which Cersei wasn't allowed to do. Instead, she was taught sewing, and singing, and to play the harp.

It wasn't fair. She hated the roles they were given. She was given a needle and expected to be happy when she wanted a sword.

Whatever intimate feelings she had for Jaime dissipated in that time, until it was nothing more than a memory, a silly, embarrassing one that she called a mistake and tried to bury.

"I hope the Princess makes him happy."

Mother turned to her, a golden eyebrow raised in silent appraisal to see if Cersei was being truthful or trying to hide something. After a few seconds, she seemed appeased, "A union between the Westerlands and Dorne would only strengthen our House."

"If that's the case then I wouldn't be needed to marry Prince Oberyn."

Joanna chuckled, "If your brother married Princess Elia, then no you would not."

Cersei was pleased with that admission. She was going to marry a prince, but it wouldn't be a Dornish one. No, she was going to marry the Crown Prince, the handsome and gallant Rhaegar, and she would one day be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. That's what father promised her.

"Regardless, if he is to be your intended or not, as a Lannister you are expected to serve as an exceptional host when we have esteemed guests visiting us at the Rock," Her mother's green eyes turned to her.

"I understand, mother," Cersei ducked her head, realizing the ramifications her absence could have on her family. She was determined not to be the one who dishonored the Lannister name. "I'll make you and father proud."

"You already do, darling," she ran her hand through Cersei's hair, who smiled at her mother's touch. "What do you think of your baby brother, Tyrion?"

Cersei's smile curdled at the mention of that thing. Why did mother have to ruin their moment by dragging that creature into their conversation?

Something that didn't go unnoticed by her mother. "He's your brother, Cersei."

"He's a monster," she spat back, "And he almost killed you!" She felt tears in her eyes and was quick to scrub at them. Her father told her that lions don't cry. That they're not suppose to be sad. Never sad, if they're upset then it should be turned into something productive, never to wallow in it.

"Oh, darling," She felt her mother's hands cup her cheeks, raising her chin to meet her mother's green eyes. "I'm here," she soothed, "I'm alright, you can't blame your brother for that."

Yes, I can, she wanted to say, but she stopped herself. "How can you defend him?"

"He's my son."

Cersei was stunned by her mother's sharp tone, looking up at her to see a fierce lioness with eyes that blazed a challenging hue as if waiting and ready for any further insult or attack on her child. It wasn't a side of her mother she had seen. She felt a sliver of apprehension in her tummy especially upon understanding at the moment, that anger was directed at her. Cersei was the one who was trying to come between a mother and her child. She was the one trying to separate them, and seeing what it stirred in her mother, a ferocity that couldn't be rivaled, it made her reconsider what she should or shouldn't say. She didn't want to be the target of her mother's ire.

"He needs us, Cersei." She took Cersei's hand in hers and led her to the crib.

She stayed silent, watching as her mother affectionately tousle its hair, soothing it with a soft hum, before smiling where it then cooed back at her. Cersei felt something in her chest shift when she watched the interactions between them.

"We're lions, Cersei," her mother reminder her. "We're a pride."

"A pride?" Cersei remembered her parents telling her and Jaime a similar story several times. But it was simpler then, it had been just her parents and Jaime. Now it was to include this thing.

"Yes," she affirmed, "You're a lioness and it's your responsibility to defend your brothers, Jaime and Tyrion." Her finger was gently scratching at the baby's tummy, much to the delight of the infant. "Otherwise what sort of sister are you to let someone hurt our family?"

"The Lannisters, our family remains strong because we are united." Her mother continued, "Tyrion is my son, your brother," a smile playing at her lips. "Our little cub, he'll need you, Cersei."

"Need me?"

"Yes," Her mother sighed, "The world is cruel to those that are different. Already word has spread of his birth," She sounded sad, "Gossiping and wanting to gawk at him as if he was a means to entertain him." She shook her head, "Not my son, and never a Lannister."

Cersei knew mother was right. Having already heard of what was being said about him, reflecting on the cruel things they said, brought an unexpected burning feeling to her tummy.

It was anger. But this time it wasn't directed at him, but them…

Reflecting on this new sensation, Cersei looked down once more at the crib to see he was smiling at her. His small hands reaching up at her, his different colored eyes didn't look ugly then. How could they when he looked so happy? So oblivious to what the world outside of this room would think of him. What they would say about him. How they would try to hurt him.

The thought of that brought that simmering anger to grow. He didn't deserve that, she realized in that moment. No one should dare mock the Lannister family or name.

She'd protect him from their cruelty. She'd make them pay if they thought to insult him. The Lannister name was beyond reproach.

Cersei reached out to grab one of his small hands with her finger, he seemed delighted at the touch, and when his face lit up, she didn't recoil in disgust, instead she smiled.

"Hello, Tyrion," she said softly in greeting, "I'm Cersei, your big sister." She carefully applied a small bit of pressure on his hand with her finger for an affectionate hold, "And you're a mighty Lannister of the Rock."

He gurgled in response.

Cersei giggled, "That was a fearsome roar." She rubbed his cheek with her free hand, "You're going to grow up with a brother and sister who'll love you because you're one us. And no one messes with a lion's pride."

\-----------------------------------------------------

Daeron:

"Have you heard the news out of the Westerlands?"

"Tywin's new son?" Daeron asked.

"Yes," Ser Gwayne Gaunt answered, a man with a wisp of hair upon his head, all of it dark, with kind brown eyes, and a bushy mustache that hung over his small mouth which smiled often. In spite of his family's name, he was tall and thick, dressed in the white armor of the Kingsguard, with his greatsword strapped to his back, the hilt of which was poking out over his shoulder.

He was often the guard assigned to Daeron. Not that he minded, the prince enjoyed the knight. Ser Gwayne liked to laugh, and wasn't as glum or as indifferent as some of his fellow kingsguard knights.

"You should be Ser Gwayne the Gossip," Daeron joked.

Gwayne chuckled. "I can't help it, my prince. I enjoy a good story." His mustache twitched. "And there's quite the story coming out of the Rock. They're calling it a monster."

Sadly, Daeron had already heard these stories . Remembering how thrilled his father had been when word had reached his ear of the deformity of Tywin's newborn son. Aerys had been quick to call it a just serving by the gods to punish his Hand for his arrogance. He didn't think it wise or appropriate of his father to be so public in his remarks towards Lord Tywin, seeing as the man was one of the richest and most powerful in the Seven Kingdoms.

Reservations aside, Daeron was quietly relieved that this new story out of the Westerlands had distracted his father's wrath and anger away from his mother, Queen Rhaella. Who was recovering from another stillborn, an incident that had made father curse and shout his frustrations at his wife and queen, and openly wondering if she was being unfaithful to him.

It had taken all Daeron's discipline not to speak out when Father voiced this out loud in the great hall with court in session. Instead, he took the insult of his mother silently, inwardly stewing at the disrespect he hurled at her while she lay bedridden, weak and exhausted by the botched pregnancy. 

That was where he was headed now. Mother was recovering from the trying ordeal, and Daeron didn't want to leave her alone.

"An Oldtown sailor heard from a merchant at Lannisport who's cousin is a servant at the Rock who said it has a tail!" Ser Gwayne's gossiping brought Daeron out of his thoughts.

"How does that sound reliable?"

He frowned at the question. "What do you mean, my prince?" He scratched his chin. "It sounds rather legitimate to me."

They rounded a corner where they were greeted by a pair of soldiers dressed in black armor, the Targaryen emblem emblazoned on their chest. They bowed at Daeron's presence as he passed, he nodded towards them in recognition as he was taught to do before they continued on their way to Mother's chambers.

"Have you seen my brother around?"

"Last I heard he was in the library, my prince."

"Do you know if he's seen the Queen at all?"

"Not to my knowledge, none of the men guarding him have reported going to her chambers."

Daeron pushed away some of his silver hair that had fallen over his face. While trying not to show frustration at his older brother's seemingly indifference to their mother's health. Wasn't he worried? Did he even care for her well-being?

No, he was too busy reading his dusty tomes in the library, he thought bitterly. My brother cares more about what he finds on faded ink in old pages then he does the flesh and blood of the people who surround him.

Rounding the last corner to reach her chambers to see Grand Maester Pycelle exiting them while Ser Harlan Grandison of the kingsguard had the duty of standing outside the Queen's room. Both men were quick to bow at Daeron's approach.

"My Prince," Harlan greeted him, his voice low and deep. He stood short, only about half a head taller than Daeron who had yet to reach his eleventh name day, but he was stocky and intimidating despite the white hair nestled atop his head, and the beginning wrinkles that crept along his face couldn't hide the warrior that still remained.

"Ser Harlan," Daeron returned the greeting with a smile. "It does my heart glad to know that my mother has you as her protector this hour."

"You honor me, prince."

Daeron nodded before turning to Grand Maester Pycelle, who had served as Grand Maester for more than twenty years, the hair on his head was receding, the hair that remained was snow white. His beard was the same color falling just above his broad stomach, his eyes were droopy looking like he had just woken from a nap, dressed in the robes of his order with more than two dozen chains that he had forged during his time in Oldtown which were stretched from neck to breast.

"Did you need me for something, my prince?"

"No," he declined politely, "How is my mother?"

"The Queen is recovering," Pycelle proclaimed.

"I want to see her."

"She is ill, my prince."

Daeron Targaryen frowned. "She needs me."

"She needs rest," Pycelle countered, stroking his beard. "It isn't wise for young princes to argue with those whose knowledge they don't have."

He felt a flicker of annoyance in his gut at the Grand Maester's scolding. "She is my mother," He insisted, "Now, step aside so that I may pass." He took a step towards him and as predicted so did Ser Gwayne and Ser Harlan turned to the Grand Maester as well.

Pycelle buckled in an instant, realizing he was outnumbered with no allies. He bowed his head, shuffling to the side to allow him access to the Queen's chambers.

"Thank you," Daeron didn't even glance over at the man. "Can you make sure we are not interrupted?"

"Of course, my prince," It was Ser Gwayne Gaunt who replied, taking to stand on the opposite side of his counterpart, Ser Harlan, who opened the door for Daeron so that he may enter.

The chambers of his mother, the Queen, were posh and ornate, red and black dominated the room while carved stone dragons watched his movement with unflinching eyes and menacing silent snarls.

He was quick to note his mother wasn't alone, spotting two of her handmaids attending to her by her bed, which was draped in black and red curtains.

"Mother," his voice hitched in his throat when he spotted her. She looked pale, her indigo eyes, were staring blankly up at the canopy of her bed, dark rings surfaced beneath her eyes, her platinum blond hair was tangled and dirty. Daeron didn't like seeing her like this, she looked so weak and helpless. This wasn't his mother, the loving, kind woman who he went to when father scared him or Rhaegar ignored him.

"I lost it."

"I know," he grabbed her hand, frowning at how frail it felt in his grip. "How are you?"

"Your father is angry," she ignored his question. Her lips quivered. "Another one of my failures." She croaked, "that's what he calls them." Tears swam in her eyes. "He believes me cursed by the gods."

"No, mother, that isn't true." He was quick to assure her, feeling an ache in his chest upon hearing his mother list all the cruel things, father said about her. "You've done your duty," he tried to say. "You've given him two sons," he rubbed the back of her hand, "An heir, and a spare," he chuckled.

The names of her sons seemed to shake her from her reverie, blinking unshed tears, she turned her indigo eyes to him, "Daeron," recognition caused her eyes to shimmer, "My son."

He smiled, "I'm here, mother." He looked over to see one of the handmaidens had come over with a bowl filled with water while holding a dry cloth. "I can do that," he insisted, thinking it only right he attend to her. "Set it down, please."

The handmaiden hesitated, torn between loyalty and her duty, looking uncertain if Daeron should perform it whether because of his age or of the task seemingly being beneath a prince. In the end, she acquiesced, putting the bowl down on his mother's nightstand before curtseying.

"Where is Rhaegar?"

"He'll be here soon, mother," he didn't like to lie, but he didn't want to hurt her. "He's practicing his harp. He's going to play you something."

It won't be a lie, he thought, I'll make sure Rhaegar comes to see her.

"My sons," She smiled, "Take such care of me."

He dipped the cloth into the water. "We try not to spoil you."

Rhaella Targaryen laughed at that, a fragile sound, "The gods have blessed me."

"They've blessed us too," he told her, "You're the Mother herself," he declared, "kind and nurturing," he carefully brushed away some of the beads of sweat that had formed, but Daeron was sure some were tears that were shed for the child that had been lost.

The sigh that left her lips was of contentment. "How go your lessons?"

"Ser Willem Darry says I'm improving every day with the sword." He couldn't hide the pride that filled his tone. "And Ser Barristan promised to start sparring with me soon!"

"Oh?" amusement bubbled her question, "Is that wise for Ser Barristan the Bold to fight my prince?"

Daeron laughed, "He promised to go easy on me, mother."

"I'm glad."

"I want to be his squire," Daeron said suddenly, "Do you think father would allow it?"

"I could think of no finer mentor."

He was determined to get better with sword and lance. He wanted to do something better than his brother.

Daeron thought it could be fighting since he spent all his time in the yard training while Rhaegar preferred books and parchment to swords and shields, but that all changed when Rhaegar suddenly took an interest and had decided he needed to learn to fight.

He remembered the day all too well. The day Rhaegar showed up during one of Daeron's lessons with Ser Willem. He looked so out of place, earning a few stares and even a couple guffaws as Rhaegar wasn't even dressed in armor or padding, but that didn't deter him from walking right over to Ser Willem, interrupting Daeron's lesson, and declaring, I must learn to fight.

Much to Daeron's annoyance, his brother took to fighting like fish to water, excelling in his lessons with Ser William. His brother fought well, better than Daeron. His age and maturity easily trumped Daeron's raw talent, giving Rhaegar an advantage in their sparring. Besting Daeron with ease whether it be with swords or with lances.

Daeron hated it. His brother was good at everything he did, the perfect prince. That was what they called him at court. And now he had taken what Daeron had always wanted to do, but in the end, it didn't matter because Daeron still found himself in his brother's shadow, the crown prince.

My day will come, he thought, unable to deny the feeling of satisfaction he felt that came with the image. It was why Daeron was so excited to learn and squire under Ser Barristan. There was no finer swordsman in the Seven Kingdoms then Ser Barristan the Bold, and Daeron would have every opportunity to learn from him, pick up on his skills, and hone his craft, hoping that when he was finished, he could beat his brother once and for all.

"Daeron?"

"Yes, mother?" He blinked back to the present, looking to see she was looking at him closely.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he said too quickly to sound convincing.

"Have you and Rhaegar been fighting?"

We'd have to talk to fight. "No."

Thankfully, that placated her, "Good, you two mean the world to me," she closed her eyes. "But now it's time for you to go on to your lessons."

"I can stay."

"Your lessons," she repeated sternly, but there was a softness in her reminder.

"Very well," he let out a dramatic groan and was pleased at the smile that it had gotten from his mother. He stood from his seat. "I'll try to visit again soon." He bent over and kissed her forehead.


	2. 276 AC: Brothers

Daeron:

"Was there a tournament when I was born?"

Daeron was too excited to pack. Lord Tywin Lannister had sent an invitation to his family for a tournament he was throwing in honor of the birth of Daeron's new baby brother, Prince Viserys. So instead of packing, he found himself in the chambers of said baby brother.

His mother, Queen Rhaella was there, tending to the infant in his cradle while Kingsguard knights, Ser Oswell Whent and Ser Gwayne Gaunt stood on opposite sides of the entrance chambers doors.

Father wasn't taking any chances in trying to protect his newborn son. He had tasked Lord Commander Hightower with putting at least one knight of the Kingsguard in Viserys' chambers at all times. No one was allowed to be alone with his new baby brother, not even mother, who was attended by a handful of servants, handmaidens, and the wet nurse.

"There was no need, my prince," Ser Oswell Whent replied, "What were we celebrating?"

"Oswell," Rhaella scolded the Kingsguard knight.

Daeron grinned at the playful ribbing from Ser Whent. He enjoyed the knight's sense of humor, and was pleased that Oswell didn't treat him like a pampered prince and had no difficulty in teasing him.

"Mayhaps, I should fight you to regain my honor?" Daeron challenged.

Ser Oswell regarded him, "Let's not add injury to insult, my prince."

"I'm getting better!" Daeron insisted. He had been working diligently in the training yard every day.

"Of course, you are," Ser Oswell agreed, "Once a man reaches the bottom the only place to go is up."

"I think you've insulted my son, your prince enough for one afternoon," Rhaella Targaryen, Queen of Westeros turned away from the crib and her newborn towards them. A playful smile on her lips, she walked and carried herself well even after giving birth so recently. She raised a platinum eyebrow towards Ser Oswell.

He took the playful scolding with a small smile. Ser Oswell then inclined his head. "Of course, your grace."

She nodded towards him before turning to Daeron, who couldn't help but smile at his mother. "Are you excited about the tournament?"

"Yes, mother," he answered quickly, but his smile dipped, "but why can't you and Viserys come?"

The smile she wore slid from her face. "It is your father's concern that keeps me and your brother here." Her dark purple eyes turned back to Viserys, "It's his way of keeping us safe and making sure your baby brother is healthy and that I recover."

"I guess," Daeron found himself saying, unable to find any fault in that logic, but he was still disappointed.

"Come, my son," She called him over.

Daeron obeyed. Approaching the crib, before looking down to see his newborn baby brother who was squirming on top of his blankets, sucking one of his balled fists. He had a few wisps of silvery hair that crowned his head, his eyes were lilac, and he was pale skinned.

"Hello, Viserys," Daeron knew his brother couldn't understand him, but when their eyes met, he couldn't help but smile down at his younger brother. "I'm your brother, Daeron," he introduced himself.

I'll be the older brother, Rhaegar never was to me, he kept those thoughts to himself, not wanting to upset mother.

"The gods have blessed me with three strong sons."

Daeron puffed his chest out slightly at the tone his mother used to describe him.

"And I know that this prince," she poked Daeron's nose, causing himt to laugh. "Will be on his best behavior while he attends this tournament," she turned her eyes to him, "You represent our family. You are a Prince of the Seven Kingdoms, Daeron. You will act like one."

"I will, mother," the last thing he'd want to do is disappoint her.

"I know you will, darling," she ran her hand through his hair, tousling it as she went. "Are you excited to see your brother enter the lists?"

"Yes, mother," Daeron gave the answer she wanted to hear.

Rhaegar had been recently knighted and father had given his blessing to let him partake in the tournament that was being held in honor of their younger brother. Daeron was too young to take part, and had to resign himself to sitting in the stands and watching.

Before she could reply, baby Viserys made his feelings known, letting out a gurgling cry.

Daeron quickly put his fingers to his ears to try to muffle the wailing cries. "He's so loud!"

"He's hungry," Rhaella didn't flinch.

"I'll get the wet nurse," one of the servants volunteered loudly, so that she could speak over the noise.

"The food tester too," Ser Oswell Whent spoke up. "The king's orders."

Rhaella didn't protest, turning to two of the servants. "Go, now," she encouraged, they curtseyed before quickly leaving the room.

Viserys was still crying.

"Shh, darling," she bent over carefully picking up her newborn son. "I know you're hungry. You'll eat soon," she ran her fingers down his back.

Unaware and unable to understand what was being said to him, the baby still cried, but mother had softened them with her gentle touch and words. She smiled in response. "That's a good child."

"Was I so loud when I cried?"

"Louder," Rhaella favored him a smile, her indigo eyes held a teasing glint to them.

"Your Grace?"

Queen and Prince turned in the direction of the new arrival. It was Ser Barristan, he bowed his head, when their eyes met.

"Ser Barristan," she greeted him kindly, "Always a pleasure to see you."

"The Queen honors me," Barristan turned his attention to Daeron. "The King has asked me to escort the Prince to his chambers to make sure he is packed and ready to go by sunrise tomorrow."

"I understand," Rhaella turned to Daeron, "Go with Ser Barristan," she leaned over and kissed his head while Viserys squirmed in her arms. "And be ready to leave like your father requested."

"I will," he assured her. "And I'll make sure to say goodbye before I go."

"You better."

Daeron smiled at that before following Ser Barristan out into the corridor. They then began the short walk to his chambers.

"Will you be entering the lists, Ser Barristan?"

"I plan on it," he answered, "It's always wise to hone your talents when given the opportunity. Like swords, skills can rust if not continually used."

"I'll remember that."

"As you should," the Kingsguard knight gently reminded him, "Especially if you are to remain as my squire."

"I won't disappoint you, Ser," Daeron told him.

Ser Barristan appraised him for a second before nodding, "Then make sure our horses are prepped and ready to go tomorrow before we depart."

His first reaction was to groan at not just the work he had to do, but the hour in which he had to do it. If they were to leave near sunrise, then that meant Daeron would have to wake up much earlier to tend to his and Ser Barristan's horses. However, he made sure to not let those thoughts slip past, instead he nodded at his orders. "Then it will be done."

"Good lad," Barristan smiled at him. "You'll make a good knight someday."

Someday, Daeron was tired of that word. He was told it so often, he hated it.

Apparently, his reaction didn't go unnoticed, "The impatience of youth." Barristan responded ruefully.

"I just wish it was over," Daeron confessed.

"You shouldn't," Barristan told him, "Savor it, because far too quickly youth melts away and time makes us all old men."

"I don't want to be that old."

Barristan laughed. "I don't think you'll have a say in the matter, my prince."

"I just want to be old enough to enter the lists."

"There will be other tournaments."

It wasn't the answer, he wanted to hear, but Daeron would not show Ser Barristan any measure of disrespect taking the Kingsguard knight's words with a nod. "You're right, ser, it's just a challenge to wait."

"Aye," Barristan agreed with a kind smile. "I recall my own youth and insistence in fighting in a tournament that was being held in the Stormlands."

"That was when there were only six Kingdoms of Westeros, right, Ser Barristan?" Daeron asked innocently, but was unable to contain his grin.

"Cheeky, prince," Barristan scolded with a laugh.

"That's where you got the moniker the Bold?" Daeron knew the story well. It was legendary, how a ten-year-old Barristan had donned patchwork armor and tried to joust, but no one save for Prince Duncan would meet the boy's challenge. It was the Prince who declared him, Barristan the Bold.

"Aye," Barristan answered, eyes hued with memories of the past. "How time can slip before you."

If only I could fight in this tournament, Daeron thought. What he wouldn't give to ride against his brother and to finally beat him, to step out of his brother's shadow in front of the lords, knights, and commoners alike. The image that conjured in his mind's eye was enough for Daeron to smile, relishing that feeling of triumph at finally being able to be better at his brother at something.

"Brother."

Daeron blinked back to the present to see said brother, the crown prince, standing before him. He had to look up to meet his brother's eyes as Rhaegar was a few inches taller than him, his silvery hair fell above his shoulders, purple eyes were on Daeron, but he was certain they were focused on something else. Melancholy clung to Rhaegar like a cloak, who carried himself with quiet dignity.

"Rhaegar."

Daeron was thankful to see that his brother wasn't being followed by his gaggle of squires, and other friends. Daeron was sick of seeing them all fawning over their perfect prince. The only person with his brother was, Ser Arthur Dayne, the youngest knight in the Kingsguard and his brother's closest confidant.

"Ser Arthur," Daeron greeted the Sword of the Morning, seeing the famous sword, Dawn's hilt poking up over the knight's shoulder.

"Prince," the knight greeted cordially.

"Have you gone to see mother and Viserys, yet?"

"No," Rhaegar answered, "I've been engrossed by some tomes in the library," his voice was soft and detached, "I'm on my way to send a letter to our Great Uncle Aemon," he held the piece of parchment loosely in his hand.

Only his brother would find the company of dead men more captivating then his own blood, but Daeron was use to his older brother's aloofness. "What's in the letter?" He found himself curious to what would prompt his brother to send a letter to their Great Uncle, who served as a maester for the Night's Watch at Castle Black.

"It is not of your concern, brother," Rhaegar dismissed his question in a gentle, but distant tone. "I shall see you on the road, tomorrow." He didn't wait for a response, Rhaegar walked past them with Ser Arthur walking with him, the crown prince's pale shadow.

Daeron glared at his brother's back until it was blocked from view. They were only separated by four years, but it might as well have been forty, he thought.

Rhaegar had never been interested in being a brother, Daeron could think of only a few times growing up in the Red Keep that he and Rhaegar played or laughed together. No, being a brother didn't hold Rhaegar's interest, Daeron had learned that at a young age.

It was old books in the library, his harp, and now his sword and lance, that's what captured Rhaegar's attention.

And there didn't seem to be room for Daeron.

\-----------------

Cersei:

"Wow!"

Tyrion gasped at the large and tall wooden stands that were being placed beneath the walls of Lannisport. "Look at the colors!" He pointed a stubby finger to the dozens of sigils that were erected to signal the lords and knights who had already arrived for the lavish tournament.

Brother and sister stood together on one of the many balconies of Casterly Rock, Tyrion using a far-eye to see how the preparations were being handled and constructed for the upcoming tournament. Even without it, Cersei could see quite a bit as Lannisport only rested less than a mile from Casterly Rock. She often liked to take in the city from one of the taller balconies in Casterly Rock, preferring to see the city at dusk when it was cast in the reddish sun. It made for a brilliant sight, basking in its glow as the sapphire waters of the Sunset Sea gleamed in the sunlight.

"It's quite something," Cersei was holding his hand. "And you're going to be able to see it all."

Tyrion's head snapped towards her. His mismatched eyes shimmering in disbelief. "Really?"

She smiled, ruffling some of his coarse hair, "Yes, in the best seats at the tournament."

His eyes widened and his smile grew as he tried to imagine the spectacle that was to begin in a few days. His enthusiasm was tempered when a pair of passing guards gawked at him from their post.

"Chin up, Tyrion," She softly chided him, "A lion does not concern himself with the opinions of the sheep." She then mustered her best intimidating stare and directed it at the two disrespectful guards, who had the decency to look away, and try to pretend they hadn't been staring at her brother.

I'll have their names, she vowed. She watched them scuttle off like the insects they were. A swell of satisfaction rose in her chest at being the reason why they retreated. Those men won't be the first she's reported to her parents for reprimand, and they won't be the last.

She treasured the power to have them punished for hurting her brother. Just as a lioness savored the hunt before she made the kill. They were prey, and she was the predator.

Cersei turned away when they were out of sight and back towards her brother to see he had taken her words to heart, raising his head, and not looking affected by how those fools had acted. Good, pleased at how he responded to her words.

"Father will let me attend?" Tyrion's voice sounded so small and frail.

"Yes," Cersei squeezed his hand. "Mother's already talked to him."

"I can't wait!" He looked through the far-eye once more. "Do we need to go in?"

"We can in a few minutes," she knew that was the right answer by the smile she received from him.

"Will we be near the king?"

"Yes," Cersei looked down to see her brother had ducked his head. "Tyrion, remember we're lions," she told him. "This is our home. We can't be afraid here."

"I won't be," He vowed, after a few seconds of silently mulling her words.

It wasn't fair, even so young, her brother sadly understood when people were staring at him or he was the target of their whispering. A cruel reality that no lion should have to endure. These rabble have no right to criticize a lion!

Cowards, anger churning in her gut at their show of disrespect. She'd get them all if she could, silencing every last one of them to make sure they couldn't utter such insults about her brother ever again.

"Mother and I will be with you."

If she had her way she would've been sitting next to her prince, Rhaegar, but he wasn't going to be a spectator for this tournament. No, he had been recently knighted and according to father would be entering the lists.

His first tournament and I'll be here to cheer him on! She couldn't contain her giddiness, it was going to be perfect.

"Dreaming about your prince?"

Cersei snapped out of her thoughts to see her twin brother, Jaime ambling towards them, wearing that smug grin of his that she loathed. She sent him an annoyed look in hopes of wiping it from his face, but it had no effect, which only infuriated her further.

"Jaime!" Tyrion cheered in delight, letting go of Cersei's hand and running over to his brother as fast as his stunted legs could take him. He stumbled in his waddling and for half a heartbeat, Cersei feared that Tyrion was going to fall, but quick as a cat, Jaime was there to scoop him up with a laugh while Tyrion giggled when Jaime spun him around.

"Father wants you back for supper," Jaime informed them, still holding onto Tyrion, who seemed disappointed that he wasn't being spun anymore.

"We shouldn't keep father waiting."

"No, we shouldn't," Jaime was playfully jostling Tyrion in his arms, "And what've you been up to?"

"Reading," Tyrion babbled happily, "And then Cersei got me out of my lessons early so that I could see all this!" He waved his tiny arm out at the tournament grounds that were being constructed in the distance.

"Out early?" Jaime raised an eyebrow at her. "Father won't be pleased."

Cersei detected a mocking tone in her brother's voice, but chose to ignore it, turning her attention to Tyrion. "It was only for one lesson," she pinched her baby brother's cheek. "Besides, the maester says Tyrion excels in his lessons far better than any child he's taught."

Tyrion raised his head up at the praise. "I like to read."

"If only Jaime liked it as much as you," Cersei teased, earning a giggle from her younger brother.

Jaime frowned at her, but seeing how Tyrion took the joke, his frown turned into a smile and then a chuckle. "I suppose that's true."

"Don't worry, Jaime," Tyrion patted his brother's head like one would an obedient dog. "I'll help you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Won't lie, writing children is a weakness of mine, I always get them sounding too young or too mature. So sorry if it comes across too jarring, especially concerning Tyrion with reading/maester lessons since he's only 3ish. 
> 
> Thanks for the awesome feedback and support. Glad and relieved to see this idea has garnered some interest. 
> 
> -Spectre4hire


	3. Reflections

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay, my laptop crashed in December, and only now have gotten a new laptop.

276 AC:

Rhaella:

The Red Keep was quiet.

Queen Rhaella let out a small, but content sigh when she knew it was safe. When she knew, she was safe. Her husband, her king, Aerys had set out to Lannisport to attend a tournament that Lord Tywin Lannister was gracious enough to host and throw in celebration of the newly born prince Viserys.

Alone and free, she was nearly giddy with the realization that she'd have this for the next few days. She was in her son's chambers where Viserys was sleeping peacefully. She was resting on a sofa in front of a hearth, the embroidery she was working on was resting on the empty cushion beside her.

She had dismissed the servants who tended to her or Viserys, they left with little hesitance. While the honor of staying behind and missing the tournament fell on Ser Harlan Grandison who stood just outside the chamber doors. The Kingsguard knight and a little less than two dozen guards remained in the Red Keep to protect her and the newborn prince.

Rhaella couldn't remember the last time the Red Keep had been so peaceful and still. It gave her a rare opportunity and she relished the quiet, tranquility that seemed to settle over the Keep in the absence of her husband, her king. A feeling she knew she wasn't alone in sharing. Rhaella could see it in the postures of the few servants and guards who remained behind. In how they moved or talked, as if a burden had been lifted from them, that burden being the looming shadow of her husband.

When her husband had decided that neither she nor Viserys would attend, she accepted his decision with a bowed head and a curtsey. Thanking him for considering her health and their new son's safety. Rhaella wasn't sure those had been his intentions when he made his choice, but it did not matter to her.

Rhaella had learned long ago to not try to dwell on the reasoning or the thinking of her husband. When they were young, and only knew each other as brother and sister, he was always so unpredictable, one morning he'd have an idea, by nightfall it'd be forgotten and it'd be on to something else.

She remembered a time when she like so many others were enraptured by the dreams and visions that a young Aerys spun. His idealism was infectious, and he had a way of making you believe they could happen even if appeared to be impossible. Each idea as grandiose as the last, with a passionate spirit that artists would envy. But the burning passion that fueled his dreams were fires that burned bright before dying just as quickly.

He was a dreamer and it was those ideas that captured his attention. He found what others called normal, boring and mundane to him. Why focus on ruling? Settling disputes and listening to petitions, there was nothing to that that fascinated him. So, his Hand, Lord Tywin ruled, and Aerys dreamed.

She did not envy Lord Tywin the task of having to host her husband for this tournament. Aerys was fickle and sensitive, what he liked one day, he'd hate the next. Meanwhile, Rhaella would enjoy her freedom without having to worry about upsetting her husband these next few days.

The only thing that would've made this time better would be if she had all her children with her, but she knew that was too selfish of a dream. She could not deny Rhaegar or Daeron to attend just because she wanted them to herself without her husband's interference.

My two pillars, she thought fondly, Rhaegar and Daeron, the two pillars that gave her the support and strength she needed while the foundation she had built with Aerys continued to crumble. And now I have three, a smile touched her lips at the mention of her newborn son, Viserys.

Said baby was sleeping peacefully in his cradle. She looked down at her discarded embroidery, she was making a blanket for Viserys, red and black, with the proud Targaryen dragon emblazoned on it. Though, where she paused in her work, it didn't quite resemble a dragon but a headless dog.

With that realization, a laugh burst from her lips, she nearly found herself dizzy with mirth unable to recall the last time she had laughed so freely. A true, sincere laugh was a beautiful sound and hers she had barely heard these last couple of years, living with Aerys in the Red Keep there was little use for laughter.

When her mirth subsided, she looked once more at her sewing. It was slow work, but it was busy work. She had time to finish it, time to perfect it. Rhaella had so much time. Her mother, Queen Shaera had been the one who taught her needlework and the blessings it could have.

It had also been her mother, who had tried to comfort her when her father, King Jaehaerys had decided and insisted that like with her parents before her, she and her brother Aerys would wed.

Who better to marry then someone who you've known all your life? She had told Rhaella while she cried into her pillow at her father's decision. When that did not stop her tears, her mother stopped in her kindness, tears will make a poor veil for your wedding day.

Bonifer Hasty, the name came to her like a whisper before drifting away on the wind. My knight, he had named me his Queen and when he could not have me, he chose the Faith of the Seven over marriage. Her heart quickened with his loyalty and his devotion to her, feelings that Aerys never considered for her or inspired in her for him.

If only I could be so free to have chosen who I could've married. When the betrothal had been announced, in her dreams it was Bonifer not Aerys who was her husband. They lived in a small house in the Crownlands, he tended to the fields while she cooked and cared for their children. She didn't need exotic silks or jewels, just him.

Even after she married Aerys over the years, the dreams lingered. And while Aerys exerted his control over her freedom and movement, he couldn't stop her from what to think. Bonifer was her refuge. He made her feel safe and appreciated. He loved her, and that was all she had wanted.

And in the end, it was those dreams that had brought down the gods' punishment down onto her.

When the stillbirths started to come, she feared it was her punishment from the gods for having such immoral thoughts towards a man who wasn't her husband. Aerys had concluded she was unfaithful to him. Physically she never had been, but emotionally, it had been with Bonifer, he had her heart and her dreams.

So, she put Bonifer aside in her heart, once and for all, burying her affection deep within her so she could do her duty to Aerys, for the realm, and then her sons came, first Rhaegar, and then Daeron, and now Viserys.

Even after Rhaegar and before Daeron, she endured the heartbreak of miscarriages, and after Daeron, she buried not one, but two children who survived the birthing, only to perish, in the following weeks and months afterwards. The gods still punish me for my sin.

Aegon and Jaehaerys, she gave them names, and the gods her prayers, but it hadn't been enough to save them.

My children died because I could not love my husband.

Grief filled her heart, pushing away those dark memories, and wiping away tears she found wet on her cheeks. Rhaella stood up and made her way over to her son's crib to check on him.

She looked down to see him sleeping, jumbled up in his blankets, blissfully unaware of the world around him. My baby prince, she reached down her hand and as gentle as a touch of a feather, she brushed her fingers along the side of his cheek. He stirred, a sleepy murmur followed, but he did not wake.

Three sons, a sense of pride washed over her, warm and soothing. I've done my duty for the realm. I've been a good wife to my husband, and will be a good mother to our sons.

Madness and greatness, her father's voice whispered in her ear, they are two sides of the same coin. Every time a new Targaryen is born, the gods toss the coin the air and the world holds its breath to see how it will land.

The old saying from her father caused her happiness to be snuffed out in an instant. Madness and greatness, she remembered, is this the fate of my sons? she feared, Between Rhaegar and Daeron is one destined to rise to greatness while the other falls to madness?

No, she lurched back, she felt cold fingers around her heart, as the fear tightened its grip. Not them, she prayed to the gods. Let them be great!

Rhaella looked around the room for solace, for refuge, there she saw the stone dragons above the hearth looking down at her with cold eyes.

It runs in the blood, they whispered to her.

"NO!" She shouted. Her heart drumming against her ribs, she fell backwards, onto a cushioned chair by her son's crib.

"Your Grace?"

She blinked, pushing away her silvery hair that had fallen over her face to see a concerned Ser Harlan standing in her room. His hand on the hilt of his sword, while his eyes darted around the room for any signs of danger or intruders. "What's wrong?"

"It's nothing, Ser Harlan," she lied, feeling terrible for having let her fears get such control over her. She could tell the aged knight was not convinced, "I fell asleep," she let out a sheepish laugh, that almost sounded genuine to her ears, "And was awoken by a nightmare."

"I see," his eyes were still looking around the room, as he silently processed her story, but when he saw no proof to expose her lie, he nodded, "Very well, Your Grace," he dropped his hand from the hilt of his sword, "If you need me, I'll be outside."

She gave him a genuine smile. He was one of her favorites, preferring him over Hightower or Derry. "Thank you, Ser Harlan."

"Your Grace," he slipped out of her room as quietly as he had come in.

When the door closed behind him, she let out a long sigh, running her hands over her face, as she chided herself for losing control like that. Not wanting to dwell on her outburst or the thoughts that led it to her, she pushed them aside, and brought her attention back to her son.

Getting up from the chair, she was relieved to see Viserys had not woken from her shout. In that moment, she recalled the conversation with her son, Daeron before he left for the tournament.

"He sleeps a lot," Daeron complained.

"He's a baby," she told him, "They need their sleep."

"When will be able to do something?" Daeron looked down at his sleeping brother.

"When he's older." She assured him. At three and ten, her second oldest son was nearly as tall as her, and she was certain would pass her this year, and keep on growing.

"Like me," he mumbled under his breath.

"Still upset that you cannot ride in the tournament?"

"No," he denied, but when his eyes turned to her, she could see the guilt come to his face at his lie, "I mean, yes."

"Let these men have their glories now," she smiled at him, "Because when you're older you will win them all."

He perked up at that, clearly pleased about that enticing possibility. "I suppose that's fair." He smiled.

"More than fair," she kissed his brow. "At the tournament, you will just have to settle for being their prince, and not their knight."

"I can do that."

"That's my son," she was amazed at how quickly he's grown. From the babe, she once held in her arms, to now a boy at three and ten, on the cusp of manhood, who yearned to be a knight.

"Daeron,"

The smile that was on his face left in an instant at the sound of that voice. "Father," Daeron's posture stiffened, and his head bowed at the sudden presence of his father.

Aerys walked into the room, his hair long and silver, the crown nestled atop his head, his purple eyes scrutinizing the son who stood before him. "Are you packed?"

"Yes, father,"

"Took you long enough," Aerys' caustic tone was casual in its delivery. "Rhaegar was packed hours ago," his lips curled. "Your brother didn't need me to send a messenger."

"I'm sorry, father," Daeron's shoulders slumped at his father's criticism and his comparison to his older brother. "I am ready."

It was a game to him, she knew, Aerys enjoyed pitting the brothers against one another, to have them vie for his affection, for his favor when he bothered to give them any attention. And then when he grew bored of it, he'd put them aside until the next time he wanted to amuse himself. Unaware or uncaring of the damage it had caused to his sons and their relationship.

"You should've been ready earlier," Aerys reprimanded. "Mayhaps, you should stay here as punishment.

"No, father," the words slipped out before he could stop himself, as his face clearly showed he shouldn't have said that out loud.

"No?" Aerys' eye twitched, "I am the king!" He pointed an angry finger at him. "Not you, insolent brat!"

Aerys' anger was a terrible thing. It was like a bolt of lightning, quick and devastating with its burst before disappearing just as quickly. Its damage done and forcing those who suffered from it to try to recover.

Like my sons, the thought angered her.

Rhaella could take no more. She put her hands on her son's shoulders, comforting him, an act which she knew would get Aerys' attention, and she wasn't disappointed. His eyes snapped towards her, filled with annoyance. She ignored his stare, gently pulling her son into her chest, allowing her to hug him from behind.

"It's alright, Daeron," she soothed him, feeling his shoulders trembling beneath her touch. "You can stay here," silently hopeful her son would remain quiet, "We'll have fun, so much fun," she could feel Aerys' eyes on her, boring into her, but she would not flinch under them. "We can go to the Blackwater. You can swim, you always enjoyed that."

"No," Aerys' words were cold and sharp. "He will not be staying with you," his lips peeled back to show a triumphant smile, believing he had denied her what she wanted. "The boy is coming with me."

"As you say," she bowed her head, stopping her own smile from forming.

"Go off to bed, Daeron," his father told him. "We leave at first light."

"I still haven't said my goodbyes," Daeron objected meekly.

"Your mother is needed."

Rhaella's blood ran cold at that tone. She knew what that meant, and whatever triumph she felt at tricking Aerys to make sure he brought Daeron deflated in an instant.

"She has to perform her wifely duties."

I did my duty, she wanted to shout, I've given you three sons, Aerys, now give me peace. But she didn't say that, instead, she resigned herself to her fate, "Go on, darling," she encouraged Daeron. "Off to bed, you have an early day tomorrow."

At that, Rhaella returned to the present. Satisfied, Viserys was well, she returned to the couch before the hearth, and picked up her needles. Beginning the stitching, but the reminder of what happened after her time with her son could not be so easily ignored.

After Daeron had left, Aerys had taken her-roughly. Her fingers brushed along one of the bruises that had formed on her arm from his tenderness.

She had laid there quietly and unmoving, knowing whimpering or any sort of reaction could set him off, the capricious man that he was. She shut her eyes, and did her duty, and when it was over, and she felt his seed spill inside her, she heard the name he cried out in the darkness-Joanna.

\-------------------------------------------------

Joanna:

Casterly Rock was bustling.

Joanna Lannister was the calm, center of a storm of frenzied servants who moved this way and that to prepare for the noble guests that would be attending the tournament at Lannisport to honor the newborn prince, Viserys Targaryen. It wasn't the noble guests on her mind, but the royal guests.

A sense of trepidation tentatively touched her heart, cold and fleeting. She brushed it aside as quickly as it came, Joanna Lannister was not one to let fear control her. She was not one to let it manipulate her. No, she was one who relied on her intellect to defend her, and this was no different.

Even if the reason for that brief feeling of trepidation was a king. The arrival of Aerys Targaryen always stirred a mixture of feelings for the Lady of Casterly Rock. She knew him before he was a king, when he was a prince during their time in King's Landing, where she had found him charming and handsome.

Different days, she mused, moving throughout her room, and putting final touches onto her appearance before she stepped out of her chambers and took on the mantle of Lady of the Rock to welcome and entertain the guests that would be joining them this evening.

One guest in particular continued to nag at her mind while she tried to keep herself busy. Aerys, was not one to be easily forgotten, she smiled at that, knowing it could serve as a compliment or an insult to the king's infamous character.

He had wanted her, Joanna had always known that. She knew he had cast his eye on her when they were still young and in King's Landing, preferring her to his betrothed, his sister, the princess Rhaella, and didn't care that Joanna was promised to Tywin. Even after Aerys was married, his new bride didn't seem able to sate his lusts that stirred within him that still remained directed at Joanna.

She'd be lying if she said, she never entertained the notion of Aerys as a lover. What woman wouldn't want the title of Queen? One of the few roles where a woman had some semblance of power, but despite Aerys' protests to his betrothed, and his desire for Joanna, he followed through with his parents' wishes and married Rhaella, and when they said their vows, Joanna crushed any further interest in Aerys.

She' d take him as her husband, as her king, but she would not sully herself as a mistress, as some woman who he kept her around in the Red Keep till he grew bored with her. No, Joanna Lannister would not allow herself to be put in that role. To lose her value just as means to entertain Aerys until his interest in her left, and he moved on to the next woman.

Besides, it was Tywin not Aerys who had won her heart, cunning and ambitious, he made for a better match then the King. It was Tywin who had earned Joanna's respect not their king. He understood how to rule. She saw it with his skilled handling of the Tarbeck and Reyne Rebellion. He knew what message that needed to be delivered to his unruly bannermen so that they understood that House Lannister was not one to mock.

It was a harsh, ruthless message, but the Westerlands had it coming. They needed to hear it. The arrogance of the houses Tarbeck and Reyne brought their deaths, not Tywin.

Tywin was not capricious in nature, but calculating, and as Lord of Casterly Rock, Warden of the West, and Hand of the King, he wielded tremendous power in his own right. Tywin was also wise enough to listen to council and not consider it beneath him. He'd never say it, but he appreciated listening, letting others speak while he silently pondered their proposals, mentally going through with their plans and predicting their potential to succeed or fail in seconds. He would not speak himself until the end of these meetings there he would give his decision, sometimes agreeing with a suggestion another had made, others coming to his own conclusion.

It was a trait in her husband which Joanna found endearing, especially when that voice he heard was hers, she added that last thought while a smile played at her lips. The reminder brought her attention to a half-finished letter to Prince Doran which remained on her desk. She kept finding herself distracted in preparing for this tourney with her duties as Lady of the Rock. Whether it was overseeing the kitchens to plan the courses for tonight, the steward to help decide which guest would stay there, and a dozen or so other problems that cropped up and needed her attention.

She moved over to the desk where the letter rested, skimming over the contents of which she'd already put to paper, congratulating the Prince on the recent birth of his heir and daughter, Arianne. News that Joanna welcomed, having always admired how Dorne treated their women when it came to ruling.

One of her greatest friends had been the Princess Mariah Martell, Doran's mother, when she died, Joanna had wept and had mourned her for weeks. It had been their goal to unite their families, Dorne and the Westerlands in a betrothal between their children. An idea that Mariah's son, Doran was receptive to.

Despite having two children each to make the offer there was only really one match that would be well received and accepted by both parties, and that was the match between Princess Elia Martell, and her son, and heir to Casterly Rock, Jaime. The alternative between Oberyn and Cersei would never be approved by Tywin, even if she tried to win him over to it, but it was something she would not, because she found her thinking like his that it would be a poor match for them.

Jaime and Elia, Joanna allowed herself a smile at that potential betrothal, seeing through the desires of her friend, Mariah in binding their families together. She saw only benefits to this arrangement and knew that she could convince Tywin of its merits.

With that in mind, she folded the letter and placed it in her drawer, knowing she would not have time to finish it until possibly after the tournament.

Elia had come as a boon when she arrived to Casterly Rock years ago with her mother, and brother, Oberyn. Coming to Jaime's life at a time when he needed companionship as his rift with his twin sister, Cersei only worsened. It had been good to see him be drawn away from any feelings he may have had towards his sister and direct them at a more appropriate match like Elia.

Joanna tried not to dwell on the incident involving her twins, wanting to brush it aside as them being young and curious. Thankfully, over the years there seemed to be no further interest between them. Something she made certain to monitor, in case any such feelings cropped up again, but it looked as if her twins had directed their attention to pursuing others. Jaime with the Dornish Princess, and Cersei with the Crown Prince of the Seven Kingdoms.

"Mother!"

She turned around at the happy voice to see her Tyrion standing in the doorway. "My little cub," She smiled at how his face lit up at her voice, bending down and opening her arms in an invitation that didn't need to be said out loud.

Tyrion waddled over to her, giggling as he went, eyes gleaming with mirth and when he was close enough, she picked him in her arms and held him close much to his delight, as his giggling only continued. She kissed his hair, "My little cub!"

He squirmed in his arms before letting out a small roar.

Joanna laughed, "What a roar!" She reluctantly pulled him away from her embrace so that she could see him, inspecting his appearance as he had been tasked to be dressed and ready before their guests arrived.

"And such a handsome lion too!" She added, his face split in a smile at that, she was pleased that he was properly dressed, all in red and gold, their colors, dancing lions stitched onto his doublet, his slacks were clean, hair washed, and shoes shined.

Satisfied, she hugged him again, who was quick to return the affection, his small arms wrapping around her neck as he nestled his head just under her chin. Was there a better feeling then holding your child in your arms? Joanna didn't think so, the love and happiness that filled her heart in such an embrace was always overwhelming, remembering similar feelings when Jaime and Cersei were younger and she was able to hold and caress them so easily.

Sadly, Tyrion would be her last. The complications of his birth made it all but impossible to have more children, a realization that had saddened her immensely in the days following his birth when she had been told by the maesters. Upon coming to grips with that hard truth, she threw more of her devotion and attention into her new baby son, who soaked up her affection like a sponge, her sweet, attentive Tyrion.

How could she be bitter or hold ill will towards him? What sort of mother would that have made her? It was not Tyrion's fault, sadly it was common for women to perish in the birthing bed.

She recalled after a few months of carrying Tyrion, voicing her discomfort and sharing her feelings with her husband that she was experience new problems with Tyrion then she hadn't had when she carried the twins.

At that, Tywin had spared no expense in making sure she and their child was taken care of, bringing more maesters from Old Town to Casterly Rock. As well as hiring healers from across the Narrow Sea from the Free Cities to come and share their expertise and experience. It was his way of protecting her, and she cherished it. Realizing, his decision very well may have been the cause of her and Tyrion surviving the challenging birthing.

He saved us, Joanna smiled, looking down at her beautiful son. She knew what others saw and said when it came to her Tyrion, words and looks that fueled a burning fire in her chest. He may be a dwarf, but he was still her son. He was still a Lannister. Something she had to remind Cersei, and it had been a bit challenging for her to show Tywin, but in the end, she'd convinced them both.

With those thoughts behind her, she focused once more on her son in front of her. "Are you ready for our guests?"

"Yes, mother," his hesitance was brief, but she still saw it.

She smoothed out his coarse, curly pale blond hair. "You're going to be a host, Tyrion."

"A host?" His face scrunched up. "What's that?"

"Yes," she smiled at those bright, inquisitive eyes, impressed with the intelligent gaze they gave. He was by far more clever then any three year old, that's what the maesters had to say. Words Joanna Lannister took with a pride only a mother could feel for her children. "We are welcoming guests into our homes for the next few days, and we will need to be accommodating to them."

"I will," Tyrion promised, "I can show them around!"

"What a marvelous idea!" She praised, noticing how his chest seemed to puff out at her words. She knew Tywin would be hesitant and may even try to refuse it, but she'd convince him of that folly. She'd just have to make sure Tyrion wasn't alone, perhaps have Jaime or Cersei come too, she trusted the twins in watching their younger brother and discouraging any sort of ridicule or disrespect one may try to show him.

"You, Jaime, and Cersei have made your father and I very proud."

"Really?" The disbelief in his voice made Joanna's heart yearn for her son.

"Of course," she wanted to smother that doubt, bringing him into another embrace, "Just yesterday, your father talked about how impressed he was by the report the maester had given on your lessons."

She had been encouraged when her husband had brought it up to her, but knew that his tone and how he said it could've been better. She knew she still faced some challenges when it came to Tywin and Tyrion, but every day she believed she was closing the gap between the father and son.

Tyrion beamed at that. "I always try my best."

"And we're very happy and proud of you for it."

"My lady?"

Joanna and Tyrion turned to see it was Maester Desmond, who bowed his head, dressed in grey, his chains clinked against each other when he bowed. A short and stocky man, his black hair was kept short and slicked back by some tonic of his. While a beard covered his cheeks and chin, his blue eyes were alert and kind.

"I'm here for Master Tyrion," he gave her son a smile. "To finish our lesson that had been interrupted," his blue eyes sprinkled with amusement.

"Good timing, maester," Joanna valued Maester Desmond's council and intelligence, his added kindness to Tyrion only further endeared the man to her. She relied on his presence here to help run the household while her husband was at the capital to serve as the Hand.

"I'm sorry, maester," Tyrion apologized.

"It's quite alright, I remember being young and drawn to the wonders and splendors of tournaments," he chuckled at the memories of his younger self.

"I'll have someone come to collect him when the guests are near," Joanna told him.

"Of course, my lady."

"Be mindful to the maester, Tyrion," Joanna reminded her son, knowing it was hardly needed since her son was by all accounts an attentive and obedient student. She nonetheless knew it was prudent to remind him of his duties and expectations as her son and that of a Lannister.

"I will, mother."

She hugged him once more, relishing the hold his tiny arms around her neck before letting go. Maester Desmond then offered Tyrion his hand which her son took, as the two left her chambers to return to the maester's room to finish their last lesson.

"Mother?" Jaime came walking in seconds later, "Has there been word from any guests pending arrival?"

"Nice to see you too, darling," Joanna smiled, taking in her son's frazzled appearance. He was dressed well, she was pleased to see, in his red doublet with golden lions stitched, his hair looked a bit disheveled and she saw the reason for it when he dragged his fingers through it while a look of anxiousness flickered across his face.

"Sorry," he sent her a sheepish look.

"It's alright, dear," noticing he looked a bit distracted, and taking in his appearance he seemed to have rushed to her chambers. "There has been no word from any of our guests outside of the Westerlands." She saw how he deflated at that news, she decided not to comment on it, knowing he was looking forward to the arrival of a very particular guest.

"Oh," he looked down, clearly disappointed, "I'm sorry to bother you then, mother."

She waved that apology off as soon as he said. "It's never a bother," she assured him, pleased when he smiled at her words. "I know your father can be stern when he is interrupted, but you shouldn't worry about interrupting me, ever."

"I won't, mother," Jaime brightened.

"Good," It was then that she noticed it, a smudge under her son's nose. "There's some dirt on your lip." Joanna moved to wipe it away.

"Mother!" Jaime protested, trying to evade her grip. He couldn't.

"Hold still," she held his arm with one hand and with the other, moved to clean his face, when she went to wipe the dirt, she realized it wasn't dirt, but her son's attempt at growing a moustache. "Ah."

Jaime wouldn't meet her eyes. "It's supposed to make me look older."

"Older?" She didn't even try to keep the amusement out of her tone. "Any reason?"

"No," Jaime declined quickly.

"It doesn't have to do with a certain princess?"

"Mother," Jaime groaned.

Joanna laughed, "My apologies."

"Cersei didn't like it either."

"I never said I didn't like it," She corrected her son.

"So, it looks good?"

"I didn't say that either," she said gently, "I just think you may need a few more years before you can grow a proper moustache or beard."

"I just… I just wanted her to think I was older," he said, "Not as the boy she met last time," He ducked his head, "That sounds silly."

"No, it doesn't," She cupped his cheeks, heart brimming with how sweet her boy sounded. "It sounds wonderful, but the Princess doesn't seem to be someone who likes a person just because of how they look."

"She doesn't," Jaime happily agreed, "She's nice and kind to all." His smile widened, eyes danced as they talked about the princess with such obvious fondness. "She didn't even flinch when she first saw Tyrion," Jaime revealed, his voice softened at the mention of his younger brother who he adored. It was clear Elia's reaction to Tyrion was what helped to endear her to Jaime. 

"Princess Elia is a wonderful young woman," Joanna agreed. "She'd make a man a wonderful wife someday," watching her son closely when she spoke, and wasn't disappointed at the reaction it got out of Jaime. "But that day isn't today," she reminded him.

"I'll shave it," Jaime announced, his cheeks a bit red.

"Smart boy," she tousled his hair causing him to meet her eyes with a grateful smile. "And you do not need to concern yourself. You'll be the first person to be informed when the Dornish party arrives.

Jaime grinned, "Thanks, mother." He then surprised her when he moved to hug her, an act which she cherished, embracing him tightly. As her twins grew older it was rarer for them to initiate the hug or willingness to return it with the same affection they did when they were younger.

She held her son close, confronting the surprising truth of how much her son's grown over the years. He was now a boy of two and ten, but it felt as if yesterday he was seven and begging her to read one more story to him before bedtime.

Finally, the embrace ended, and Jonna looked down at her son, smiling, heart filled with pride at the young man before her. "Now off you go," she moved her hands in a shooing gesture.

Jaime laughed, "I'm going," he promised, as he moved towards the door, he stopped when he was there, "Remember to tell me."

"I promised, didn't I?" She had her hands on her hips.

Still smiling, he slipped out of the room and went off back to his chambers.

Soon, she thought, if all goes well by the end of this tournament, her daughter would be betrothed to the Crown Prince, and her son, and heir would be promised to Elia, the Dornish Princess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to try to explore these two characters we know little about, and add some believable depth and breathe life into them. Hope you guys didn't mind and enjoyed it.
> 
> For those curious here is a select timeline for 'A Dragon's Roar,' so you can see births and how old the characters are. Some have been altered to better accommodate this story. I hope no one minds.
> 
> 252: Doran Martell is born
> 
> 259: Rhaegar Targaryen is born.
> 
> 261: Elia Martell is born
> 
> 262: Oberyn Martell is born
> 
> 262: Prince Aerys Targaryen is crowned King Aerys the Second
> 
> 263: Daeron Targaryen is born
> 
> 264: Cersei and Jaime Lannister are born
> 
> 267: Tywin inherits the Lordship of Casterly Rock


	4. Introductions

276 AC

Jaime:

"Will you stop pacing," Cersei complained, "You're giving me a headache."

Jaime looked over his shoulder to see his sister was glaring at him. An intimidating look that use to have him wilt to her commands, but not anymore. It only amused him now. He offered her a shrug and a smile, knowing that would further incense her.

It did. Her eyes narrowed upon realizing her stare did nothing to affect him. A look of irritation passed over her face before she decided to change her approach.

"I don't understand why you're so worked up over this," Cersei noted, "After all, we're waiting for the Dornish party not the royal party," She didn't hide her distaste for their pending Dornish guests.

"A guest is a guest, sweet sister," Jaime replied, silently pleased at how easy it was for him to get under her skin. She really was bad at this, he thought wryly.

"And we know what guest you have your eyes on, brother," Cersei's lips curved up, clearly pleased with herself, "Though, why you're so fascinated by this plain girl is beyond me."

"She's not plain," Jaime protested hotly, "She's beautiful!" he declared before he could stop himself, inwardly chiding himself for letting his sister get the better of him. He wanted to change that.

"And she's not a girl," he corrected his sister, "But a woman, unlike you."

He knew his words hit the mark by how his sister's face flushed in anger, green eyes glaring at him as sharp as daggers, her hands clenched at her side, a snarl nearly escaping her lips at being unfavorabley compared to the Dornish Princess.

"Cersei!" Tyrion came into the room, oblivious to the heated exchange that had passed between his siblings. He was smiling as he waddled to approach them, going to his sister first since she was closer.

Cersei's anger faded in an instant at the sound of her brother's voice, spinning away from Jaime and towards Tyrion, where her smile was bright and genuine as she carefully crouched down as to not dirty her new dress to greet her brother. "Tyrion," She replied with equal affection as she hugged him when he was close enough. "You look so handsome," she cooed, kissing his cheek before letting go.

"You think so?" He looked down at his attire.

"Oh yes," Jaime answered before his sister could, "It isn't fair you know," Jaime stepped over to greet his brother, sending him a mocking frown, "No one's going to notice me, now!"

Tyrion giggled, face lighting up at Jaime's words.

Jaime smiled down at his brother before picking him up, much to Tyrion's delight, and spinning him which only brought more laughter and cheers. Jaime too couldn't help but join in, finding his brother's mirth infectious. The threat of dizziness finally brought Jaime to halt in his spinning and to put his brother back down.

Tyrion didn't hide his disappointment, but his face remained red with mirth. "I'm ready to do my duty for House Lannister." He declared with as much seriousness as a three year old could muster.

Jaime smiled, looking over his brother to see a similar smile on his sister's face, who was looking down at Tyrion with unhidden affection. In that instant, he couldn't help but notice how beautiful his sister looked, golden hair that cascaded down past her shoulders, bright green eyes that now shined with fondness instead of hooded with annoyance which Jaime often found himself the reason or center of.

However, with that observation of her beauty, he felt nothing else. There was no stirring in his chest or his pulse quickening as it did whenever he thought about Princess Elia, or the knots that formed in his stomach when he corresponded with her where he worried over every word he put to parchment.

Those feelings for his sister were no longer there. As it had been when they were younger and they had spent all their time together. He could recall how he would do anything for her if it got him a hug or a kiss to his cheek. Or even that time when they shared more than brief kiss before their mother had found them and stopped them at once.

Now, thinking of that memory, Jaime didn't find himself elated but ashamed at what had transpired between him and his sister. No longer thought with fondness, but regret, it was now a secret he hoped would never be revealed.

Cersei must have noticed his gaze as her eyes shifted from Tyrion towards him, her smile which she had been directing at their younger brother, remained, though her eyes had a curious hue to them.

He smiled at her as well before sending her a wink and was pleased when she rolled her eyes at him. Even though their relationship had changed as they grew older and they were no longer as intimate as friends and confidants like they once had been, that didn't change Jaime's feelings for his sister. He still cared and loved her even if she could drive him crazy with her streaks of jealousy or her vain outlook.

Then again wasn't that the point of siblings, Jaime found himself realizing, to love each other despite our differences and frustrations.

"You're going to make House Lannister very proud," Cersei assured Tyrion, breaking Jaime out of his reverie.

"I will," Tyrion tilted his head up proudly.

"Speaking of Lannister pride," Cersei remarked, "I'm thankful you shaved that ridiculous moustache before our guests arrived."

"I liked it!" Tyrion piped up before Jaime could address his sister's teasing, "It looked like a fuzzy caterpillar was sleeping on your lip."

Cersei giggled madly at that description, and Jaime snorted in amusement before laughter followed at his brother's innocence. Tyrion joined in on the laughter, mismatched eyes shining bright, smiling widely.

That was how their parents found them minutes later to let them know the Dornish party had been sighted.

\----------------------------

"You look beautiful," Jaime found himself saying as he escorted Princess Elia and her brother, Prince Oberyn to their guest chambers within Casterly Rock.

His excitement and nervousness had wrestled in his stomach like writhing, fighting snakes as he had waited for the Dornish Party to arrive. He had volunteered to escort them when they had been spotted, but his father had declined, giving the task to his brother, Jaime's uncle, Ser Kevan.

So, he waited. Jaime hated waiting. He didn't like the idea of not doing anything, finding it boring and frustrating. A waste of time, when he could be doing something, but instead he was forced not to. Another reason for his dislike of it was that, he had no distractions, allowing his feelings to stew in his gut as time stretched on at a slow pace, forcing him to confront his mounting anxiety at Elia's pending presence.

"You've said that once or twice already," Oberyn quipped, not bothering to hide his amusement.

"Oberyn," Elia playfully scolded her brother before turning back to Jaime where she smiled at him, a smile that made Jaime's heartbeat quicken and his stomach to do tumbles. "Thank you, Jaime."

He returned his smile, silently pleased at how receptive the princess had been to his words. A compliment that he didn't think could be understated, sneaking a glance at the Dornish princess who walked in step with him. Her hair was as dark as a raven's wing, cascading down her back. Her eyes were dark and warm, with a kind smile that only made her more alluring to him.

She was dressed in Martell orange in a thin fabric that clung to olive skin to reveal her womanly curves. It was not just the thin fabric that had Jaime distracted but the cut of the dress, short sleeved and a low cut that gave him glimpses of her bronzed skin. A golden necklace of interwoven suns helped to accentuate her long neck.

She had his full attention in that dress. Oberyn could be walking naked beside Jaime as far as he knew, but his eyes wouldn't leave the beautiful princess. He wasn't sure anything could distract him from her beauty.

She was a vision, Jaime realized, The Maiden made flesh.

Tyrion had giggled at Oberyn's jape, snapping Jaime away from his thoughts on Elia, as he looked to his other side where he was holding Tyrion's hand. His younger brother had been adamant in joining them when Jaime had offered to escort them to their chambers.

Elia had responded with a warm smile at Tyrion before declaring how happy she'd be at his presence.

She is the Maiden, Jaime thought, not just because of her beauty but the kindness she was quick to bestow upon others including his brother.

"How was your trip?" Jaime found himself asking when the lull of conversation seemed to stretch too long to his liking. He inwardly cringed at his own question, hoping it didn't sound as dull as he feared.

"Uneventful," Oberyn answered, a touch of annoyance in his tone to convey he was disappointed by that fact.

"Is that what you called that innkeeper's daughter?" Elia teased her brother.

Oberyn grinned at that, "Never," he feigned hurt at his sister's accusation, "She was a fun distraction in a boring place."

"With words like that, brother, no wonder you swept her off her feet and into your bed," Elia observed with a dark eyebrow arched.

"Nothing so amoral," Oberyn held up his hands in defense, "just a few kisses," he winked.

Elia rolled her eyes at her brother's antics, while an ignorant Tyrion smiled detecting the joking mood that had settled over the siblings even if he couldn't understand what it was they were talking about.

"I don't think I'm the only one with that on my mind," Oberyn whispered so that only Jaime could hear before elbowing him while he laughed.

Jaime felt heat come to his face at the Dornish prince's insinuation. Looking down at where he walked so he didn't have to face Oberyn's teasing eyes and smug grin or Elia's inquisitive gaze, curious at what had been shared between them.

Was he that obvious, he worried, upon Oberyn's remarks, wondering if the Prince could detect Jaime's obvious infatuation with Elia did that mean she could as well?

That thought caused his stomach to lurch, anxiety bubbling within, as he wasn't sure he could take Elia's disinterest or worse pity, when it came to her feelings for him.

"Here we are," Tyrion's words brought Jaime's attention back to their surroundings to realize they had arrived at the two guest chambers where the Dornish Prince and Princess would be residing throughout the tournament.

The servants of the Dornish party had already begun to move their trunks and belongings into the chambers where the Prince and Princess would be staying, silently bustling back and forth as to avoid and not to interfere with the talk of their masters.

"Wonderful," Oberyn sounded pleased upon reaching his room, going to the doorway and looking inside where he let out an appreciative whistle, "I should stay with you Lannisters more often."

"Hardly," Elia injected, "You're an acquired taste, brother."

Oberyn laughed, shrugging at his sister's observation. "I suppose you're right." He admitted, not looking the least bit put out by his sister's jest. "But still, I could appreciate this sort of hospitality."

"We're your hosts," Tyrion declared happily, "If we can help we will."

Oberyn turned towards Tyrion with a smile, not one made to mock, but a genuine one, "And we are honored," he bowed his head.

"Yes, we are," Elia happily agreed to her brother's words, looking down at Tyrion with a smile, before she bent down and kissed Tyrion's cheek much to his surprise and delight. "Thank you."

"My lady," Tyrion responded, bowing his head, but Jaime caught a bit of red on his brother's cheeks from the kiss, not that Jaime could fault his brother for that. Who wouldn't react in such a way when kissed by the most beautiful woman in Westeros? He squashed the small sliver of envy that decided to grip his heart at the kiss Elia had given to Tyrion.

She then turned to Jaime, still smiling, being the center of that smile, Jaime thought it appropriate that her family's sigil was the sun, given the warmth and beauty that seemed to resonate from the Dornish Princess.

"Thank you, Jaime," without hesitation she moved and placed a similar kiss to his cheek.

"My lady," he replied, feeling a soothing warmth from where her lips had touched his cheek, her kiss had lingered with him, he thought or hoped. Ignoring the tumbling of his stomach, he reached for her hand and kissed the back of it, "Until evenfall," he was silently pleased when he thought he detected a faint coloring of her cheeks from his gesture.

"Until tonight," she echoed, her eyes locked on his.

That wonderful moment passed between them for another heartbeat or two before it was broken by the Dornish prince.

Oberyn snorted, "where's my kiss?"

"Few are that brave," Elia japed at her brother earning a chuckle out of him.

"My lady," Tyrion wanting to mimic Jaime, stepped forward, trying to reach for her hand.

Elia indulged him, placing her hand within reach of him where he kissed the back of it, looking pleased with himself.

Jaime withheld the chuckle that threatened to slip from his lips at his brother, instead settling for tousling his hair when he came to stand beside him once more.

"Elia," Jaime called back to her when she had moved towards her chambers, she stopped and turned to him, "I would be honored if you'd let me escort you to the feast tonight."

Elia answered him with a bright smile. "I would very much like that, Jaime." She curtseyed to him, sending him and Tyrion one last friendly smile before disappearing into her room.

Jaime stood there quietly pleased with how that had turned out for him. His confidence further bolstered by their interactions no matter how brief, had him feeling hopeful that she could very well be feeling something similar towards him as what he felt for her.

"My, oh my," Oberyn's voice pulled Jaime's attention towards the Dornish prince who was leaning in the doorway of his chambers, his arms crossed, and grinning, "It looks to me I may be getting another brother." He chuckled at that, clearly amused at the situation, "And if that's the case," he sobered with his next words, "I cannot think of a better match for my sister." With that, he bowed his head to Jaime and Tyrion before retreating into his chambers, closing the door behind him.

"What does that mean?" Tyrion scrunched his face, trying to figure out what the Dornish prince was alluding to.

"Nothing to concern yourself with, brother," Jaime then picked up his brother without warning, confidence soaring through him as Tyrion squealed in happiness. "Come, let's go find mother and father."

With that Jaime carried Tyrion back towards their family wing, feeling lighter than air and with a smile that he couldn't lose.

\-----------------------------------------------

Daeron:

"Finally," King Aerys the second of his name, groused as the royal party had finally arrived outside the great golden hall of Casterly Rock. "What a maze," the king continued with his complaining.

Daeron on the other hand had been disappointed that they had finally arrived at their destination. He had been in awe at the sight of Casterly Rock from the first time he had seen it on the horizon. He had read tales and history of its size, how it stood taller than either the Wall in the north or the Hightower in Oldtown, but to see it with his eyes was a distinct experience entirely.

There was no dispute that this was the largest, wealthiest, and most formidable castle in all of Westeros. Taking in its size and fortifications, Daeron understood now why this castle had never been taken in a siege. He wasn't certain that it could be done by the hands of man. How could one topple such a behemoth? It loomed over the city of Lannisport like a large, skulking stone beast.

Once they were inside, Daeron found new ways to be impressed with how rooms, halls and chambers had been carved from the mineshafts. The walls were awash with the red and gold trappings of House Lannister. Roaring lions, proud and tall looked down on them from cloth and stone alike, as they moved deeper into the seat of House Lannister where its lord and family were waiting for them.

While Dragonstone was cold, wet, and gloomy, Casterly Rock was bright and warm and had its own life which Daeron admired.

Ser Tygett Lannister, younger brother of Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, and Hand of the King took the king's words without reaction, instead signaling to the guards to open the doors, which they did.

Glimmering gold greeted Daeron's eyes once the doors opened revealing how the Golden Hall got its name. Daeron's head turned this way and that as he tried to take in the great sight before him.

A large, cavernous hall that had been dug out centuries ago by past Lannister kings to serve to entertain and impress foes and friends alike. Tall pillars gilded in gold lined the room, up above golden chandeliers hung resembling clouds of gold each one holding hundreds of candles. Tables and benches were scattered about with so many years, Daeron thought this room could probably hold a thousand guests if needed.

Red tapestries of golden lions hung proudly on the walls, none bigger than the one behind the lord's table where it stretched down more than twenty feet, the golden lion emblazoned on it was as large as a giant.

There standing beneath the towering lion was another such lion, Lord Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, Warden of the West, and Hand of the King. The man stood tall and proud, short blonde hair rested atop his head like a golden crown. His tunic, doublet, breeches all in red, a golden lion pendant clasped at his collar to keep his gold colored cape in place, around his neck was a chain of golden hands, the finger of each clasping the wrist of the next.

"Your Grace," Tywin Lannister greeted them cordially, bowing as he spoke, his wife and children followed his example where they stood behind him. "It is an honor that you accepted our invitation."

"Yes, yes," Aerys waved off Tywin's greeting with an annoyed hand, his eyes moving from his Hand to the Hand's wife, where a smile spread across his face, "Lady Joanna," he beckoned her closer, "You are a vision."

Joanna Lannister moved towards the king. "Your Grace," She curtseyed. "You are too kind."

"Pah," Aerys dismissed her tone, "We're friends, Joanna," his eyes not shying away from her figure, he then took her hand which she did not offer, placing a kiss to the back of it. "Your sight is a refreshing reprieve to a tired traveler."

Daeron noticed how Lord Tywin's green eyes flecked with gold were staring at his father, his mouth pressed so thin that it looked like it may disappear. While Daeron observed the Hand's anger, he too experienced his own at his father's disrespect of their mother.

A scene that did not go unnoticed by the large noble crowd that had come to Lannisport for the tournament, but here in the Golden Hall only the most powerful and richest nobles were given a seat. Not to mention the Royal party and part of the court his father had been inclined to take with him.

"Let me see the children," Aerys ordered.

"Proudly," Joanna answered smoothly, taking in stride his father's tone and demand. "Jaime and Cersei, who you've already met."

Daeron hadn't seen the children of Lord Tywin and Lady Joanna since he was a boy no older than five or six. And then he had barely made their acquaintances. The Hand of the King kept his family at the Rock while he resided in King's Landing.

Jaime was a year younger than Daeron, but stood tall like his father and would probably only continue to grow. His hair was gold and curled. He had bright green eyes, an easy smile which complimented his handsome features which were sure to make girls swoon.

When their eyes met, Jaime bowed his head before offering a friendly smile which Daeron found himself returning, thinking he could find a friend in Tywin's son and heir.

Daeron then shifted his attention to Jaime's twin sister. She had long golden hair that fell past her shoulders, emerald green eyes, fair skin, slender. She was cute and he had no doubt that she'd grow into a beautiful woman. She felt his eyes on him and turned to meet his stare, a challenging gaze but just as quickly she looked away. He followed her gaze to see she was staring at his brother, Rhaegar with undisguised affection.

Like my brother would notice, Daeron snorted in amusement. He looked to see Rhaegar take in the introductions with his typical detachedness that Daeron had grown accustomed from his older brother.

"They've grown," Aerys' eyes barely took in their appearance before they shifted to the small boy that stood between the twins, "But it is your new son that interests me." His tone not hiding his glee, "Step forward, little one."

Daeron had overlooked the youngest son of Tywin and Joanna when inspecting the twins. He saw a boy no older than three or four who when standing straight still came to a height below the knees of his siblings. He was a dwarf, with a jutted forehead, mismatched eyes of green and black, and pale, coarse hair.

He shyly stepped forward, "Your Grace," he said timidly, giving the king a small, clumsy bow as he did.

To Daeron's shame, Aerys looked delighted. "What a Lannister," His father proclaimed in a mocking tone, "I can see the resemblance of your father."

The Golden Hall filled with snickering and murmuring of the king's veiled but obvious insult of his host.

Daeron stood awkwardly, quiet and still as he was unsure how to address his father's words without earning his wrath. He looked to see angry looks coming from Jaime and Cersei being directed at the king before the latter had Tyrion return to their side. The poor boy who was innocent and ignorant of the jape being directed at him.

"Your Grace," Tywin said stiffly, "Let us break bread and drink," he gestured to the lord's table, "And let this feast commence with your blessing."

Aerys met Tywin's stare with a scowl as if he was about to protest at being dictated to before the king changed his mind, and acquiesced, "wise words from my wise councilor," Aerys announced to the gathered crowd, "Let us enjoy this bounty provided by the Lannisters but made possible by your king."

\--------------------------------------------

"What do you think of our home, Prince Daeron?"

Daeron turned to see Tywin's youngest son, Tyrion was the one to have addressed him. The young boy sitting on some sort of wooden block that had been added to the bench that allowed him to sit above the table like the rest of them.

The table he found himself sitting at was one closest to the lord's table, where Daeron sat with all three of Lord Tywin's children as well as the Dornish Prince and Princess, Oberyn and Elia. While the Lord's table was occupied by Aerys, Rhaegar, Tywin, and his wife, Joanna.

Daeron couldn't complain about the company enjoying his time with the Lannisters and Martells. As he was already familiar with the latter as they had come to King's Landing on more than one occasion. The only person who wasn't joining in on their friendly conversation was Cersei who had taken a seat at the table that looked towards the lord's table and there she sat, barely eating, watching Rhaegar, who seemed oblivious to her stares.

"It's wonderful, Tyrion," Daeron answered, "Surely a castle worth boasting of."

"It is," Tyrion was all too happy to agree. His inquisitive and mismatched eyes remained on him. "Is it true about the dragon skulls in the Great Hall?"

"Yes." Daeron confirmed, "they line our Great Hall."

"Including Balerion?" Tyrion didn't hide his enthusiasm. "It was said he could plunge towns in darkness since his wings were capable of blocking the sun!" Tyrion said excitedly, "Or that he could swallow an auroch whole!"

"Yes, Balerion's skull resides there, an impressive sight," Daeron confirmed, "his teeth are as large as swords," Daeron revealed, noticing the look of wonder on the boy's face. "You know your dragons, master Tyrion."

Tyrion beamed in pride, "I've always wanted to ride one," he admitted. "Then when it flies I'll be taller then everyone!"

The table sobered at the young boy's honest confession. Princess Elia looking at him with pity, but a reassuring smile, Oberyn had a pensive look, Jaime who was sitting beside his brother, patted him on the shoulder, even Cersei who had been gawking at Rhaegar and hadn't said three words to them had turned her attention to her youngest brother, who sat across from her. She gave him a sympathetic look before patting his hand.

"You would make a fine dragon rider," Daeron declared with an encouraging smile.

"It would be quite the sight," Elia added.

"Indeed," Daeron agreed, looking to see their words had the desired effect on the boy.

"How goes your training, Prince Daeron?" Oberyn asked.

"Better," Daeron answered, "But far from great."

"We should spar soon," Oberyn was grinning, "I never get tired of besting you."

Daeron took the playful ribbing with a smile, "That's because of that blasted spear you wield." He had yet to find a way to beat the Dornish Prince the few times they had sparred when the Dornish had visited the capital.

"My spear does have great reach," Oberyn winked at him.

"Really Oberyn?" Elia sounded resign at her brother's attempt at innuendo.

Daeron took it with a laugh, "We most certainly should spar but only when it doesn't take away from my duties as squire."

"Who are you squiring for?" That had gotten Jaime's interest.

"Ser Barristan Selmy," Daeron couldn't help but savor the reaction his answer had gotten from Jaime, the heir to Casterly Rock took it with equal parts disbelief and envy.

"Barristan the Bold?" Jaime repeated, "He's the greatest swordsman in Westeros!"

"He is," Daeron agreed, "And I am."

"I could only hope to squire for such a knight," Jaime's tone turned wistful.

"You could join one of my sessions if you like?" Daeron offered.

"Really?" Jaime's face brightened, "I wouldn't miss it."

"Good," Daeron was pleased that he accepted. "I'll have someone send for you tomorrow after the tournament."

"Thank you," Jaime replied sincerely.

Daeron took his thanks with a smile. "It's my pleasure." He then turned to the Dornish Prince, "what say you, Oberyn?"

"Pass," he declined, "I have other ways of occupying my time then watching men fight," he grinned, "But do let me know when you're ready to spar."

"I will," Daeron assured him. "I'll beat you this time."

Oberyn took his confidence with a snort of amusement. "Doubtful, but even princes have their delusions."

"Who do you think will win the tournament?" Jaime asked.

"Ser Barristan," who else could Daeron pick?

"Only because of his helpful squire," Elia teased.

Daeron chuckled, "Mayhaps."

"It's Rhaegar," Cersei answered, surprising them all by joining their conversation when all evening she showed no desire to speak with them instead settling for sitting and staring at the Crown Prince.

"You sound confident," Daeron pointed out.

"He is the best," Cersei answered in a tone that conveyed it was the most simplest thing to understand,

"Is that so he can crown you his Queen when he wins?" Jaime smirked.

Cersei scowled in her brother's direction, but not before her eyes glazed over briefly at that thought signaling how enticing she found the idea.

"I hate to disappoint you," Oberyn injected, "But the winner will be Ser Arthur Dayne."

"Ashara would be pleased," Elia sounded to be in support of her brother's prediction.

Jaime looked at them in amusement, "Picking a fellow Dornishman?"

"Why not?" Elia raised a dark eyebrow, a challenging smile on her lips. "We are the best."

Oberyn laughed at his sister's declaration before nodding, "My sister speaks truly."

Daeron too chuckled along with the Dornish Prince and Princess as did Jaime, who while laughing wouldn't take his eyes off the Dornish beauty. Tyrion joined them, oblivious to the joke, but not wanting to be left out. Cersei however, didn't look too impressed at Elia's playful declarations, giving the princess a once over with a disapproving look, before settling her focus back on Rhaegar.

All in all, Daeron couldn't have imagined a better start to his time at Casterly Rock.


	5. Princes

276 AC

Jaime:

"I yield!" Jaime called out in frustration, back on the ground, sword out of reach, and his right elbow tingling in pain having absorbed most of the impact from his fall. The sword of his opponent hovering inches away from his face, angled towards his exposed throat. It was a blunted blade, but an uneasy feeling still clung to him.

Prince Daeron Targaryen lowered his sword. "You fought well." He then offered his hand to help him up.

Jaime took the hand with a nod, as the Prince helped him to his feet. "Thanks," he brushed himself off, "I've never seen that counter riposte before," he confessed, that move had been what had caused him tumbling the ground and admitting defeat.

The Prince gave a proud smile. "Ser Barristan taught me that."

"It's an incredible move," Jaime admitted, wincing as the tingling of pain in his elbow reminded him just how good of a move it was. "Thought I had you."

Daeron took his words with a chuckle. "You almost did." He then clapped him on the back.

"Well done, both of you," Ser Barristan congratulated them both.

"Thank you," Jaime replied quickly, still amazed that he was talking to and learning from Ser Barristan the Bold. All of it thanks to Daeron who had invited him to join him in his morning lesson with the legendary knight.

"You have a lot of talent, Jaime," Barristan complimented him, "And I know you'll only get better when you grow older and stronger." His hand scratching at his chin. "Yes, greatness could be in your future with that sword in your hand."

Jaime's chest filled with pride at such a bold prediction from Ser Barristan. "I'll try not to disappoint you."

"It's not me you should be worried about disappointing," His blue eyes were kind. "Stay true to yourself."

"I will, ser." Jaime vowed.

Satisfied, that his message was taken to heart, Barristan turned to regard his squire. "You need to tighten your form and your stance," he said plainly. "You may have won the contest, but you never should've found yourself at such a disadvantage."

Instead of sulking or protesting at such criticism after a victory, Daeron perked up at the knight's words. Nodding along to them, "of course, Ser Barristan," he replied respectfully, a serious hue in his eyes as he took in the knight's advice.

Barristan smiled, "Good lad," he praised, "A knight should not shield himself from criticism, otherwise he risks being defeated," he warned, "But not by another's greater talent, but his own crippling pride."

"I understand."

"Good, we shall call an end to this lesson today." He looked to the prince expectantly, "You have duties as my squire to perform before the tournament is to start."

Daeron nodded, "I'll see to them at once, Ser Barristan." He then turned to Jaime, "It's been a pleasure, friend." He extended his hand.

"Aye," Jaime happily agreed, shaking his hand. "It has."

\-----------------------------------

"Not to your liking?"

Jaime covered his mouth as he coughed, the sour taste leaving a bitter blaze down his throat. The Dornish Red had been given to them by Oberyn, who then encouraged them to help themselves, claiming they needed a way to pass the time with the tournament having ended for the day and with the feast still an hour or so away.

"It's something," he answered weakly.

"I think you'd prefer to taste a different Dornish," Oberyn was smirking.

Jaime felt his face heat up at who the prince was referring to. He kept his face down not wanting to give Oberyn the satisfaction to see how true to the mark his teasing had been.

Daeron chuckled. "You do not sound mad, Oberyn."

"Mad? Why should I be?" He sounded confused at the idea, "Who am I to stand between what my sister wants."

"Really?" Jaime's head shot up in an instant at that. Only to see the Dornish prince's eyes shimmer in amusement. Jaime then tried to recover, clearing his throat, "I mean, really?"

Oberyn shrugged, "Mayhaps," he put his hands behind his head, leaning back in his chair as he did, but his eyes stayed on Jaime. "Unless there is a reason I should involve myself?"

Jaime wasn't fooled by the prince's loose, unthreatening posture knowing, like a snake, he'd lash out if needed, or if threatened in a heartbeat. While he remained coiled, his dark eyes took him in, silently measuring what sort of man he was and if he was worthy to be the recipient of his sister's attraction.

He tried his best not to stir in his seat as he met Oberyn's stare, whatever anxiety he may have felt in his gut dissipating at the earlier reveal that his sister, Princess Elia did seem interested in him.

For a few heartbeats, all Jaime could hear was the sound of his own heart as it drummed against his ribs, even though it felt and sounded as if it was beating between his ears. Just before Jaime's restlessness could get the better of him, it was Oberyn who blinked first.

Smooth as silk, he leaned forward, a smirk on his lips, but said nothing, as he poured himself more Dornish Red.

Just like that it was over for Jaime. With the moment having passed, he felt the tension melt away, breathing a sigh of relief. Hoping he had passed the prince's inspection and met with his approval.

"I hear you look beyond the shores of Westeros, for your future, my prince?" Oberyn had turned his attention towards the quiet Targaryen prince.

"I do," Daeron confirmed, his wineglass in hand, but he looked to have barely had touched it, until Oberyn's question prompted him to take a rather noticeable sip.

"What is this?" Jaime asked, caught off guard by the shift in conversation.

"My future isn't here," Daeron put down his wineglass, "It's in Essos."

"Essos?" Jaime repeated, surprised and confused by the Prince's answer. "You're a prince," he chided himself for how dumb he sounded with that simple objection.

"Aye, I haven't forgotten," His lips twitched, but he didn't smile, "There's not much for me in Westeros," he admitted, "I've always wanted to see the Free Cities."

"My Uncle says they're lovely," Jaime recalled the great stories his favorite uncle, Gerion had told him of the places he visited and the sights he saw when his uncle had visited the Free Cities to celebrate his coming of age. Those stories had fueled Jaime's excitement about his own coming of age day, and wanting to share a similar tour that his Uncle had gone on. Jaime had made the mistake of mentioning it to his father, who had declined the idea rather swiftly and brutally.

'You'll have the Rock,' his father had said, 'a better gift then a tour of back water cities.'

That had been the end of that conversation and any remaining aspirations Jaime had had of seeing the Free Cities.

"Yes, such new and sweet fruits to taste," Oberyn popped a grape into his mouth.

"I could carve my own reputation and fortune across the Narrow Sea," Daeron's pale purple eyes seemed to shimmer at the possibilities. "I'll get by through my accomplishments and not have to depend on my brother's generosity." He then smiled, "After all, I have enough coin I could even start my own mercenary company."

"I must say, I find this appealing," Oberyn admitted, "I may have to accompany you on this adventure you seem to be planning."

"Your presence would be welcomed, Prince Oberyn," Daeron looked pleased at the idea of not leaving Westeros alone, "You too would have an invitation, Jaime."

"Thank you, my prince," Jaime couldn't deny the appeal of such an adventure especially among friends. "I am honored."

"Though, this is just talk," Daeron cautioned them, a tone of melancholy in his voice, "It'll be years before I set sail to the Free Cities."

"That is no matter," Oberyn didn't seem bothered, "I am patient," that earned a snort of amusement from Daeron, and even Jaime couldn't stop the chuckle that came to him at the obvious lie. Oberyn took their reactions with a grin, and a shrug, "Very well, not patient, but I am a man who can keep himself busy."

"I'll drink to that," Jaime put in, and he did, to the sound of his friends' laughter.

\------------------------------------------

"I think I'll take my leave," Oberyn suddenly announced.

The three of them had just left the feast that was being held to celebrate the end of the first day of the tournament. The sound of raucous laughter and drunken boasting could still be heard, echoing off the walls as the minor nobles and Westerlands bannermen continued to enjoy gorging themselves on his father's food and drinking up his wine.

"So soon?" Elia couldn't hide her surprise at her brother's abrupt decision.

"Yes," Oberyn answered, "I'm sure you'll recover, sweet sister," he poked her shoulder with his elbow, chuckling when it got her to frown. "Besides, I do not leave you alone."

In that second, Jaime thought he saw Elia's perfect composure crack, looking flustered at her brother's tone, her dark eyes darting to him and then back to her brother, before she regained her poise.

Or it's just my pride deceiving me, Jaime was quick to point out, before he remembered Oberyn's earlier remark: Who am I to stand between what my sister wants?

That was when Jaime realized what his friend was intending to do...

"Off with some wench, brother?"

"Only one?" Oberyn feigned hurt, "You think so little of your brother's charm?"

"Only because I've seen it," Elia replied with a playful smile.

"Ah, sister, as much as I'd enjoy this exchange of barbs," he wrapped his arm around her shoulders for a quick embrace, "I have other uses for my tongue," he winked, "As I'm sure you do as well."

"Oberyn," Elia's tone suddenly became as sharp as their ancestors' famous spears, but Oberyn didn't even flinch at it, laughing it off as he walked back towards the Golden Hall where Jaime had no doubts that the Dornish Prince would grab some wine and a wench or two for his evening entertainment.

Jaime stood awkwardly in the hallway, eyes glancing from where a quiet and flummoxed Dornish Princess stood and towards the retreating figure of a Dornish Prince. His thoughts relaying Oberyn's earlier words while nervousness and uncertainty churned in his gut. Hating himself, for how his tongue felt clumsy and how his wit seemed to abandon him as the silence continued to stretch between them.

"It must be fun having him as a brother." Jaime found himself saying.

She turned to face him, a wistful smile on her lips, "Oberyn has always been a handful."

"I could imagine," Jaime replied dryly, feeling his heart flicker at the encouraging and musical laugh his joke had gotten from the Dornish Princess. "Shall we try to salvage this evening without him?" He offered her his arm.

"I cannot think of a better way to spend my evening," she tucked her hand into his arm.

The two went off on a silent stroll, Jaime barely paying attention where it was they were going, most of his thoughts and glances were towards the Dornish Princess, he had on his arm.

"You and your sister couldn't be much different then Oberyn and myself growing up."

You have no idea, was the first reply that came to him, but he was quick to clamp down on that impulse. "We are twins," immediately regretting the answer for how stupid and obvious it was. Some of which dissipated at seeing the smile it bloomed on Elia's lips.

"We were close," he picked his words carefully, not wanting even a hint to be uncovered of just how close they once were.

"Were?"

"Still," Jaime said quickly, realizing he should've been smarter with what he said, "I mean," he found himself amending, "It was easier when we were younger," he pushed away the memories that wanted to emerge, "When we had more time together."

"Yes," Elia's tone was all understanding, "Before your duties separated you?"

"Exactly,"

"You know had you been born Dornish, Cersei and not you would be heir to Casterly Rock."

Thank the Seven for small mercies, was Jaime's wry response, upon thinking of his impulsive and proud sister inheriting the Rock. He wasn't certain their family could endure that hardship. "A regret my sister laments," Jaime lied smoothly. Aware of the disdain his sister had upon the Dornish as a people, even if they let their women inherit titles and lands, she would still look down at anyone that wasn't them.

"Not to say the Rock isn't in capable hands now," Elia said, as if realizing her previous remark could've been perceived as an affront to Jaime.

Jaime chuckled at her sincere worry that she had insulted him. "Don't worry, princess," he assured her, "Neither myself or my hands felt any offense." He emphasized his words by bringing his hand to gently pat the hand she had tucked into his arm.

"I'm relieved," her eyes lingered on where his hand had was resting on hers before looking up to catch him watching her, dark eyes through thick lashes, and full lips that seemed more enticing then Jaime had ever remembered, "Where are you taking me, Jaime?"

Jaime swallowed at the enticing image that she presented before him, the soothe, rich accent of her voice, the demure tone that had just a hint of wickedness to it. His free hand clenched into a fist as if to try to will himself and his thoughts to remain under control. "The Godswood," blurting out the first name that came to mind. "There's something I want to show you."

"Lead on," she whispered, the softness of her voice accompanied with her intoxicating accent brought an involuntary shiver out of him.

"Have I offered you congratulations?" Jaime decided a change of topic was needed, "At the birth of your niece."

A bright smile flashed across her face at the mention of her newborn niece, "Arianne," she said the name with warmth that rivaled the Martell sun that made up part of their sigil. "She's a precious little thing," Elia went on, "and it is a relief to my brother to know Dorne has an heir."

"Indeed," Finding himself distracted as he watched how her face lit up and her eyes shone as she talked about her niece, the heir to Sunspear.

"Trouble in believing Jaime?" she teased, taking his distracted tone into believing he didn't fully agree with Dornish customs. "Do you not think women are commendable into ruling."

"No, no," Jaime hastily wanted to put that damaging idea out before Elia saw him in that light, "Women are very commendable," he didn't look away from her gaze when she regarded him with his words.

"Are they?" she challenged, a dark eyebrow raised up at him.

"Very," Jaime's eyes flickered from her dark eyes to full lips.

"I'm glad to hear that," she looked away first, and Jaime was certain or at the very least hopeful that he saw a faint blush on her cheeks.

His thoughts on what he saw stopped when they reached the Godswood of Casterly Rock, a beautiful and lush garden of various greens and flowers and a cobbled path that the two found themselves walking along. Jaime was always impressed at how well the upkeep was for an area that his family rarely used or even visited, but he was glad for it as he led Elia past the heart tree of the Godswood, a weirwood tree, pale bark, red eyes, with a half-smile carved onto its lips, as if it was privy to a jape that no one else could understand.

"Just over here," he was pleased to see the sun hadn't quite set on the Rock, wanting Elia to get the best view she could. He knew she had it when he heard her gasp. He led them to a small clearing on a cliff lip at the edge of the Godswood giving them an unrivaled view of the sunset.

The soft reddish glow of a setting sun, dipping beneath the horizon, casting shades of pale orange and red along the aptly named, Sunset Sea, that blazed as if it was a Sea of fire while streaks of purple crept along the setting expanse, winks in the sky, as the stars began to shine, heralding the coming of the night.

"It's beautiful," Elia's dark eyes looked at it with wonder, her mouth parted in awe.

"It is," Jaime agreed softly, but his eyes were on the Dornish sun not the setting one.

\------------------------------

Cersei:

"Did you hear him play?" Cooed Jeyne Farman, a fat and foolish girl of Cersei's age.

Of course, I did, Cersei wanted to snap at her, she wasn't deaf. He played for me, she thought with a contented sigh, her tears had since dried from the sweet, but mournful songs he played, but she would never forget this night.

After a day of thrashing every opponent he came across in the tournament including Cersei's uncles and several members of the Kingsguard, her Rhaegar played that night, showing the soul of a bard as he perfectly played his harp to elicit the most beautiful and sad song her ears had ever heard.

He was the fitting image of a crown prince, handsome and regal looking, garbed in his black and red silk doublet, tall and slender with silvery hair and the most beautiful eyes that Cersei longed to drown in. Long fingers that strummed at his harp, but when she closed her eyes, she imagined them on her, the images that came to her mind's eye made her face grow warm with a haze of dizziness filling her head.

Soon he'll be mine, Cersei was giddy.

My king, she gushed softly, my husband, she felt her heartbeat quicken at her future. All of Westeros would call her Queen, her father would bow to her, her mother would bow, Jaime would bow. The last one made Cersei smirk in triumph, she would savor watching him bow to her, and making sure he called her, Your Grace.

Take your plain princess, Jaime, Cersei thought, I will be a Queen.

First her Rhaegar would defeat Ser Arthur Dayne in the final tilt of the tournament tomorrow, and then he'd crown her, his Queen of Love and Beauty.

Me, she thought proudly, then that night at the feast, their betrothal would be announced, all of Westeros will learn that she was to be their next Queen.

In her mind's eye, she could see Rhaegar's indigo eyes looking at her with affection, a smile on his lips, his smooth voice, promising to love her.

"The Prince is handsome," Melara admitted in a reluctant tone. She was a bold beauty even with a handful of freckles on her small nose and rosy cheeks. She was already a woman, having flowered, an achievement she liked to point out whenever she could. "But I still would have Jaime."

"Jaime already has his eyes on the princess," Jeyne giggled, "he's quite smitten with her."

Because he's a fool, Cersei wanted to say, how could someone as beautiful as her brother, her twin be attracted to that drab Dornish princess?

Melara looked put out at the reminder of Jaime's affections being directed at Princess Elia. "That's alright," a wicked smile came to her lips, "I still have my imagination and my hands."

Jeyne's face burned scarlet, looking scandalized at the crude, and not so subtle innuendo, "That's not lady like!" she scolded her friend.

Melara didn't seem to care. "It feels good." She then ignored Jeyne's sputtering remarks and turned her eyes towards Cersei. "Are you ready?"

"Almost," Cersei answered.

The three of them were sneaking out of the castle and were going to pay a visit to this fortune teller who had put up at a tent near the tournament grounds. Melara had been the one to tell them about her, claiming she was called, Maggy the Frog, who brewed loved potions and had the gift of looking into the future.

It sounded like nonsense to Cersei. The idea of a love potion was laughable to her, why should she ever need such a thing? She was beautiful, everyone told her that, and they claimed that once she flowered, she'd be the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms.

I already know my future, she thought confidently, I'm to marry the prince and be his queen.

That being known, Cersei still couldn't deny her curiosity at meeting a fortune teller. It sounded exciting, and sneaking out of the castle was daring and promised to be a thrill onto itself. So, she had agreed with Melara and Jeyne to go with them, the former was excited and was already listing off questions she wanted to ask while the latter had remained pale ever since they agreed. Her eyes were twitchy and hands shaking, unable to hide her nervousness at meeting the witch.

Such a coward, Cersei thought viciously, not bothering to hide her disdain at Jeyne's behavior. If they see me with a craven, they'll think me a craven. Cersei didn't like that at all. A lion fears nothing, she reminded herself while quietly wondering if she could have Jeyne sent back to her family on Fair Island. Cowards don't belong in the Rock.

Cersei went to get her jacket and hood to hide her distinguished features from the castle's guards and servants, when a knock to her door brought her to a sudden halt. She spun around to see Melara who had been sitting at the table, looked annoyed at the interruption while Jeyne looked frightened as if fearing the Stranger had come to take them away.

"Yes?" Cersei kept her voice light and casual.

"Cersei?" The sound of her mother's muffled voice coming from the other side of the closed door was enough to temper Cersei's confidence.

Before she could answer, the door opened to show Joanna Lannister, Lady of the Rock, green eyes sweeping around the room, flicking to Melara and Jeyne, who both bowed their heads at her appearance, and chorused, "my lady,"

Joanna replied to their greeting with a nod before she turned towards Cersei. "I've been looking for you."

"I've been here."

A slight frown played at her lips at that answer. "I've discovered that," her tone had a warning lilt to it, "You are needed."

"Needed?" Cersei repeated, "For what?"

"Your brother, Tyrion has offered to give the Prince a tour of the Rock and he accepted."

"The Prince?" Cersei asked breathlessly.

Her friends and this stupid witch forgotten, she moved hastily to where her mother was standing, her hand going through her hair to make sure it wasn't tangled. "I need to change," she was dressed to sneak out of the castle not to be escorted by a prince. She couldn't let Rhaegar see her like this.

"Yes," her mother watched her move with unconcealed amusement dancing in her green eyes, "Prince Daeron was very interested in seeing the Rock."

Prince Daeron, with those two words Cersei's happiness was punctured, her smile curdled, annoyance flickered within her chest. I don't want to be with the spare.

"Let Jaime do It," He was already friends with the Dornish princess and her brother, another spare, let him collect Daeron too.

"He is already with Prince Oberyn and Princess Elia."

Cersei wanted to scream in frustration at her brother for running off with the Dornish and leaving her here with the Targaryen spare. "I'm," Cersei struggled to find a lie that could get her out of this situation while also giving her a chance to still sneak out. "Am not feeling well," she coughed suddenly, her hand going to her forehead, "I haven't been feeling well since dinner," silently trying to will herself to look and sound convincing.

"Really?" A look of concern flashed over her mother's face allowing a feeling of triumph to fill Cersei at her plan seemingly working.

Her mother then walked over to her, Cersei tried her to best to look sick, coughing again, a sniffle followed that sounded believable to her ears, and she swayed on her feet as if overcome with dizziness or nausea.

"My lioness," Joana placed the back of her hand on Cersei's temple, feeling for a fever, her lips pursed together, as she looked down at Cersei with a look of pity.

It's working, Cersei forced herself not to smile at her pending victory instead turning to her mother, her mouth sagging, eyes downcast.

"Is not as clever as she thinks she is," Joanna finished, the corner of her lips tugging upwards in a smile at seeing through Cersei's performance. "Come, your brother and the prince are waiting for you." She gestured to the open door. "You shouldn't keep them waiting."

Defeated, Cersei sighed, accepting her duty, but not before stamping her feet to show she wasn't at all happy about it. She stormed out of the room without a backwards glance to her mother or her so called friends, who had been silent sheep, meek and useless.

"Have fun, darling," Her mother's voice called after her, unbothered by Cersei's anger.

That had only made her madder. Growling, like the lion adorned on her family's crest, Cersei went off to find her brother and the prince, and silently prayed that if the Seven were merciful this would be a very short tour.

\---------------------------------

"Cersei!"

Blinded by her lingering annoyance at being forced in this predicament, Cersei hadn't realized she had arrived to where her brother and the Prince were waiting until she heard her brother's happy voice.

"Tyrion," she wrapped him in a quick hug, getting a giggle out of him. Seeing him smile and hearing him laugh, she felt some of her anger deflate at having to be here.

She looked up from her smiling brother's face to see the wrong prince was waiting for her. It should be Rhaegar, not you. I don't want you.

"My lady," he bowed his head respectfully.

"Prince Daeron," she replied politely, taking the moment to study the young prince before her. He was tall, and broad shouldered. He had silvery hair, but it didn't flow like his brother's, he kept his shorter, having it fall above his shoulders. Another thing different about him than his older brother was that his eyes were lilac, and she begrudgingly had to admit he had pretty eyes.

Rhaegar was the perfect prince, she thought as she finished her silent inspection of the other prince, you are but the spare, she reflected, lost in your brother's shadow, not to be seen or remembered.

Cersei put her thoughts and frustrations aside, knowing what was expected of her from her parents especially her mother. "I hope you were not waiting long for me," she addressed the prince, but put her attention on her eager younger brother, gently grabbing his hand which he liked, who responded to it with a warm smile.

"We have not been," Daeron assured her, before nodding to Tyrion, "I was just thanking your brother for being willing to show us this impressive castle."

She listened intently to his words and his tone, eyes darting between him and her brother, alert for any slight or insult he may try to mask or use against Tyrion. Cersei hadn't forgotten what the King had done to Tyrion, mocking him with a smile and sweet words. She hadn't been fooled, but furious.

Her blood had boiled, heat burning in her chest with each word the king dared to utter towards her brother. How dare he! She had fumed, wanting to roar and attack him for his slights on someone as innocent and as kind as Tyrion.

King or not, dragon or not, she didn't care, one did not insult a lion or their pride.

Putting that unpleasantness from the past behind her, she was surprised to see that the prince was sincerely polite to her brother through his tone and words.

"I'm honored," Tyrion said happily.

Daeron gave him a smile, "Shall we?"

"Yes," Tyrion wobbled forward, Cersei walked with him, her hand still holding his while she clung to the illusion that it as her Rhaegar not Daeron who walked beside them as they started their tour of Casterly Rock.

\-------------------------

"Remarkable," the Prince didn't try to hide his astonishment after they finished showing him the Hall of Heroes, where Lannisters were interred, but in this tomb only those who had died valiantly were put to rest in the splendid and ornate crypt.

"The last Lannister to be buried here was Lord Jason Lannister who was killed in the Battle of the Red Fork," Tyrion informed the Targaryen prince with a formal and solemn tone that never stopped being surprising since it was coming from a three-year-old.

Cersei had distanced herself from the pair the longer the tour had gone on, she wondered just how long and how much of Casterly Rock they had explored. Though, she was happy to see her brother enjoying himself, she herself felt bored and unnecessary. So as the tour went on, she found herself drifting away from Tyrion and the Prince, as the former regaled the latter with the tales of the Lannister family and history of the Rock.

Most of it was stuff she already knew and hadn't cared for when she was taught it by Maester Desmond. Finding history dry and dull, since it was filled with men and their accomplishments. Very few women trickled into the tales of heroism or courage. While the only other few women who were featured in these stories were usually the villains, scornful and too ambitious.

What do you expect, she found herself thinking, history was written by men.

No Lannister woman had been entombed in the Hall of Heroes for any deeds of valor, but instead for being wives or daughters to their heroic husbands and fathers. Not that she was surprised, a woman's battlefield was the birthing bed, and no man saw that as a death worthy to be sung by bards or to grant them a place in the Hall of Heroes.

They'd change their mind about childbirth if they had to experience it, her mother had quipped to Cersei once when she had first learned about the Hall of Heroes and how it had excluded women.

"During the Dance of Dragons," Daeron finished quietly, face pensive.

"That's right," Tyrion agreed.

"I must say the tales of this castle were not exaggerating," Daeron declared, looking to have regained his pleasant demeanor. "I understand my ancestor's sentiment now."

"Oh?" Tyrion tilted his head up to the Targaryen Prince. "And what was that?"

"Visenya Targaryen being grateful that your ancestor Loren Lannister rode to war against my kin instead of taking refuge inside the Rock," Daeron looked around the imposing surroundings that the group found themselves encased in as they made the ascent up towards the living quarters.

"That she wasn't certain even dragonflame could have cracked the Rock."

\------------------------------------

"I am in your debt."

Finally, Cersei thought with relief, pleased that her responsibility for the night was over. Her last task being to escort her brother back to his chambers. She looked to where the Targaryen prince was speaking with Tyrion, a few feet from her.

He treats him with respect, Cersei noted, reflecting on the interactions between the prince and her brother. As he should, she reminded herself, and if he had been foolish to try a more disrespectful stance then Cersei would've corrected that mistake-quickly and fiercely.

"You as well, Lady Cersei."

She blinked from her thoughts to see the prince was looking at her with those lilac eyes, that she found alluring.

The only thing he has that his older, better brother doesn't. She quickly added, as if afraid her observation could be seen as a perceived betrayal to her Rhaegar. She gave him a quick, but polite smile, only following her duties and what was expected of her.

Not to her surprise, it fooled him, and he returned it, and bowed his head to her in respect before turning to Tyrion. "I promise to return the favor whenever you visit the Red Keep or Dragonstone."

"Really?" Tyrion's face split into a wide smile.

"Really," Daeron confirmed, "It is the least I can do."

"Thank you, my prince," replied an enthusiastic Tyrion.

As happy as she was at seeing Tyrion's excitement, she had difficulty seeing her father allowing her brother to leave Casterly Rock to go to the capital or the ancestral seat of the Targaryens.

"Brother."

Cersei recognized the soothing, melancholic voice of her prince, turning to see him standing before there, looking handsome and regal, the perfect epitome of what a prince and a king should look like.

All thoughts on the other prince discarded when his older brother and heir to the Iron Throne suddenly appeared before them.

"My Prince," she announced her presence in case she was overlooked from where she had been standing. She hadn't wanted to be around for Daeron and Tyrion's conversation, but now that Rhaegar was present, she was quick to show herself. Her heat fluttered in her chest with each step as she closed the distance between herself and him. When his indigo eyes turned to her, her legs felt like jelly.

"Lady Cersei," he acknowledged her, voice soft and soothing, before he turned his eyes to his brother.

"Father wants you to return."

"I was on my way back," the other prince sounded almost petulant. "I was just thanking Tyrion and Cersei for their hospitality."

"Of course," Rhaegar said softly, looking down at Tyrion, who bowed his head,

"Prince Rhaegar."

Rhaegar took his words with a nod but said nothing, "You are to stay in your chambers for the remainder of the evening." He didn't wait to hear his brother's reply. He turned to leave, just as quickly as he had arrived.

"Prince Rhaegar," Cersei called after her future husband. Pleased, when he stopped, and looked over his shoulder towards her.

It took all of her poise not to melt from that beautiful stare, but she proved her strength and her courage by finishing her thought, "I wish you well in your bout tomorrow."

No, I wish you victory! She immediately, but quietly corrected herself, fearing her mistake may cost her the affection of her prince.

"You are kind, my lady," and with that reply, he left them.

My lady, she shivered in delight, a tantalizing feeling skimming just beneath her skin as she repeated the words her prince spoke to her before he left.

Tomorrow couldn't come soon enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey,
> 
> Sorry about the delay in posting this. 
> 
> Thanks for all the kind words and support you've given this story so far. I'm relieved and pleased that you're all enjoying this AU spin. 
> 
> Until next time,
> 
> -Spectre4hire


	6. Pride

276 AC

Joanna:

A king does not marry his heir to his servant's daughter.

Those were the words Aerys had used to decline her husband's proposed betrothal between the Crown Prince Rhaegar, and their daughter Cersei.

Joanna Lannister wouldn't forget the glee swimming in the king's eyes at having this power over Tywin. At being able to refuse him, to humiliate him within his own castle with his bannermen and family in attendance. The audacity from Aerys was surprising even to her. She knew him to be resentful and sullen of Tywin and his accomplishments, but she didn't think him capable of such a deliberate slight against the man who had faithfully served as his Hand for nearly fifteen years.

Those turned out to be the king's parting words to Tywin as the feast that had been planned to be thrown to celebrate the end of the tournament was canceled, and the royal party swiftly departed the Rock to make the trip back to King's Landing. That had been more than an hour ago.

Tywin had then decided to gather his brothers in his solar to inform them of what had happened and to plan their response.

"It's an outrage!" Tygett emphasized his frustration by slamming the table with his clenched fist. "An insult to our family."

"He was correct, Tygett," Gerion replied, smirking as he spoke, "We are all but humble servants to the Crown."

Tygett glowered towards his younger brother. "We are House Lannister," he thumped his chest, where a gold roaring lion was emblazoned on his crimson doublet, "We are no ordinary house."

Her husband had yet to speak since he had given them the news. He was still and quiet, like a sitting statue. This was his way. To listen to others, to hear their arguments, their reasons, to quietly and quickly sift through their ideas, examine the merit of them, to project the success of them, all without saying a word.

Through his silence, Joanna wasn't fooled by her husband's stoicism. His face looked carved from stone, refusing to show any impact that the king's refusal had had on him, but Joanna could see it. She knew her husband well enough to read the signs that were there. The way his lips pressed together, the tightening of his jaw, the hue in his green eyes, how he steepled his fingers atop the table.

All of which were subtle, but telling hints of her husband's surprise, displeasure, and even a smidge of personal shame at how Aerys had spoken so cruelly about their family. The latter feeling, she knew he'd deny with all the intensity and ferociousness of a lion.

Nothing meant more to her Tywin then their family and their legacy, and Aerys had spat on the name of Lannister with his cruel rejection. He was particularly prickly when it came to the family name being insulted. After all, he had witnessed it at its worse during the reign of his father, and she knew he had vowed to make sure House Lannister would never reach such depths of mockery ever again.

A vow that had Tywin drag their name back to glory through blood and grief, and over the bodies of Tarbecks and Reynes to reassert it where it belonged within the Seven Kingdoms. Only for his arduous work to be mocked by the very king, he served, and once called friend.

A cruel jape, Joanna thought, and one her husband didn't deserve.

It was not just Tywin's reaction that occupied her mind but that of her daughter. Joanna knew how much Cersei wanted to be Queen. Due to a promise that he made her when she was younger, that she'd marry the Crown Prince and be the next Queen. Telling her that she deserved nothing less than a crown atop her head.

Words, she wished her husband had consulted with her before filling her head with such dangerous promises. It was no longer harmless. Now, it was up to Joanna to try to deal with the fallout of the king's decision not just with Tywin, but with Cersei.

One matter at a time, she reminded herself.

"You should resign, Tywin," Tygett implored his brother, "let the king find a new servant." He spat the last word out.

"Don't be hasty, Tygett," Kevan cautioned his younger brother, "Aerys would not take kindly to Tywin resigning," he spared his older brother a look, "or even accept it."

Tygett glowered at Kevan's approach, "You'd have us do nothing?" He crossed his muscular arms over his thick chest.

"I didn't say that," Kevan replied patiently.

"He'd have us pretend nothing happened," Gerion pointed out wryly.

Kevan frowned. "Not pretend or forget what the king said to Tywin or our family."

Sensing more unproductive squabbling ahead, Joanna decided to put her voice forward for the first time, "Aery is fickle and foolish." She didn't mince words when it came to the man who insulted her family, king or not. "He is short-sighted," she turned to her husband to see she had his undivided attention, "We need to think bigger, darling."

"What do you mean, Joanna?" That was Kevan, but she knew her cousin and her husband well enough to know that in meetings like these Kevan often voiced what Tywin was thinking or what he wanted to be said aloud. Even when her husband hadn't said a word, he still had a way of making sure to get his point heard.

"Aerys made the first move," Joanna explained, "a blunder out of pride and animosity directed at Tywin." She wasn't one to curb her tongue. "It is our move. He declined us. So, we take away one of his choices."

"Choices?" Tygett was scratching the blond stubble that covered his chin.

"I think our sweet Joanna is referring to a bride," Gerion winked at her, "or to be more specific one of the brides that our king would consider for his precious prince."

"I knew that," growled Tygett, glaring at the youngest brother of Tytos Lannister, who took the glare with a grin, before raising his glass in toast to him and drinking.

"For Jaime," Tywin's voice was soft, but it drew everyone's notice, all heads turned to him, as the Lord of Casterly Rock made his voice heard for the first time.

"Yes," she smiled towards her husband, pleased, but not surprised that he was following her logic. "We remove one of his choices to better present Cersei in a future proposal."

"But who?" Kevan asked.

Joanna already had an answer to that, "Princess Elia Martell."

"The Dornish princess?" Tygett scrunched his nose, not hiding his distaste for the Dornish. A common reaction throughout much of Westeros since the Dornish were little loved or regarded outside their lands.

"A princess for Jaime?" Gerion chuckled, "it'll be like one of the stories I told him when he was younger." Leaning back in his seat, green eyes glimmering in amusement.

"The Martells are a respectable and powerful house," Kevan said in a rare moment that showed more his perspective then Tywin's.

However, it wasn't their opinions or reactions she wanted, it was her husband's. Her eyes were on him as she gave her answer. Alert and ready to decipher any flicker of movement that came across his face or reflection in his eyes that could help provide her with what her husband thought of the match.

"Explain," Tywin's one word command, came as relief and encouragement to her because it meant he was considering it.

A command she didn't flinch at since these were points she had been considering for years. A match on her mind since Jaime and Cersei were newborn babes. They started off as conversations between her and her dear friend, the ruling Princess of Dorne, Mariah Martell, Elia's mother. And have continued with Mariah's son, and Prince of Sunspear, Doran.

"Aerys is a proud man," she began, "He thinks highly of his family and will not let just any house marry into the Targaryens."

"You'd think he'd consider a Martell over us?" Tygett scoffed.

"I do," Joanna took her cousin's dismissal in stride. She didn't fault him his viewpoint. Tygett was a soldier, not a scholar. He wasn't one to understand politics and scheming, but fighting and swordplay.

"House Martell has Targaryen blood in their veins. Aerys married his sister, and will look to try to keep the blood pure." She turned to Tywin to dispute this claim. He didn't.

"What does House Lannister get out of this?" Kevan asked, "It seems our motives are simply to steal a rival of Cersei away from Rhaegar." He sent her an inquisitive look. "How does this make us stronger?"

Joanna resisted the urge to smile at her cousin's question, knowing it wasn't his, but Tywin's. She looked towards her husband to see him meet her stare with an impassive look, green eyes flecked with gold, but that didn't bother her. She sent him a small smile and a wink and saw his lips twitch in response before she turned back to Kevan to answer his question.

"Lord Tyrell is an ambitious man, and the Reach is one of the strongest kingdoms," Joanna observed, "An alliance with Dorne, a longtime rival of House Tyrell would do well to keep them in check, to curb their influence and to give them pause. A pact between the Westerlands and Dorne would leave the Reach suddenly exposed, and vulnerable on their northern and southern borders."

She by no means possessed a military mind or an eye for strategy, but she knew her observations made sense to the others. Joanna could see how they considered her point. Tygett, the martial knight nodded to her thinking as if seeing the wisdom in being able to check such a powerful region as the Reach before it could become a threat to them. Kevan looked pensive as if he was imagining the maps in his mind, picturing her words, and the movements of it all.

"I don't know what Lord Tyrell covets more, power or food," Gerion snickered.

"Even he would recognize this alliance as something that would have to make him consider his moves carefully," Tygett finished.

"Exactly," Joanna was pleased that it seemed to win some of them over. She looked over to her quiet husband, she was certain her points were ones that he had already considered when she broached the alliance. After all, her husband dealt with politics and strategy all the time, and his mind would naturally go to such matters when presented with alliances. Weighing the worth of them before deciding it was something to consider or pass on.

"The Reach's influence in the capital grows," Tywin observed. "Their ambitions cannot be easily sated," he clicked his tongue, "a line descended from stewards, who believe themselves worthy of gold and glory beyond their blood." He drummed his fingers across the table.

"They can field the largest force," Tygett pointed out, with a sour look like it pained him to admit their superior forces.

"Don't forget the Redwyne Fleet," Gerion added, looking at his wineglass, "or their wine." He took a sip from his glass, "Very good wine," he smacked his lips together. Looking more amused than concerned about this conversation.

Tywin sent his brother an annoyed look which Gerion seemed to detect and then defect with an easy smile before pouring more wine for himself.

He japes, because he can't take being in his brother's shadow, Joanna thought, watching the interactions between the brothers. Kevan accepted his role and stayed content in his brother's shadow. Tygett resented it, trying to prove his worth through his skill at arms, a task he's accomplished, as he's considered a fierce warrior. Gerion tried to ignore it, to be indifferent, he chose japes and smirks to try to show he didn't care.

"The Tyrells will try to angle one of their kin to entice the king to accept as a bride for his son," Kevan observed.

"Aerys will not consider the Tyrells," Joanna reminded them.

"Agreed," Tywin said softly, "and neither will we."

Joanna knew her husband had little love for House Tyrell. The Wardens of the Reach were raised beyond their station and made lords of Highgarden by Aegon the Conqueror.   
However, their growing wealth and power couldn't be ignored, and she knew it was something Tywin had noticed too. Recognizing them as a potential threat to House Lannisters' position within the Seven Kingdoms. A position that Tywin had cemented on the bones of Houses Reyne and Tarbeck.

So with the Tyrells not to be considered it only made sense to seek their rival, House Martell. Who boasted of a rich and proud bloodline with a storied history which included strong blood ties to House Targaryen. After all, alliances weren't just about strengthening ties, but weakening potential rivals.

"What of our daughter?" Tywin asked, after seconds of silence while he considered the offer.

"We bring the match to Aerys again," Joanna answered, "Since he'll soon learn he can find no better match then Cersei and our house."

"What if he offers Rhaegar to the Princess?" Kevan put out there.

"Dorne will not break the betrothal to our family," Joanna said without hesitation, aware of the odd looks she was getting from her husband's siblings, who probably considered her daft with her declaration, but she knew better. Joanna knew how much this pact would mean to the late princess of Dorne, the mother of Doran and Elia.

Over the last couple of days, Joanna watched how well Jaime and Elia got along. If the Dornish Princess was in favor of the match, which Joanna believed she was, then she knew Prince Doran would be hesitant to break it out of the love he bore his sister. Despite the tempting offer the crown could make, Aerys wasn't without detractors, and more than a few nobles were wary of his erratic behavior.

"You sound confident."

"I am," Joanna saw her husband raise his right eyebrow at her, understanding the expression and knowing she'd explain it to him when they were alone.

"And if he refuses our match again?" Gerion asked, "I mean our king isn't always one to let wisdom rule when he prefers spite."

"The King has another son."

"Prince Daeron?" Kevan raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Is he any better than a hedge knight?" It was Kevan's voice, but Tywin's words. "He does not even have Summerhall like previous spare Targaryen princes."

"That could change," Joanna kept her answer and her tone vague enough to get her husband's interest. She succeeded seeing as it perked his curiosity by the look he was giving her.

"Leave us," Tywin ordered calmly, eyes not leaving her face.

Kevan stood up quietly and obediently, Tygett grumbled but got to his feet, and Gerion shrugged as if he didn't want to be there anyhow, grabbing his wineglass as he left.

"You have something in mind," a hint of amusement in his voice, the gold flecks in his green eyes seem to shimmer. Only speaking once the door closed behind his brothers.

"I do," she answered with a smile.

He raised his hands, gesturing he was listening to what she had in mind.

"The Prince has no lands, but that could be changed," she said, "We could change it," she saw a flicker of understanding come to her husband's face, but he kept silent, "Castamere."

"Castamere?" Tywin's voice was soft and harsh.

"Yes," Joanna persevered through her husband's bitter memories. "A Targaryen bannermen to Casterly Rock," she knew the idea sat well with Tywin with how his eyes took to it, "His children with Cersei would be the best candidates for Rhaegar's children when it would come to future marriages. Lannister blood would still sit atop the Iron Thone."

"Cersei deserves to be Queen."

"She may not get it, Tywin," Joanna told him softly, and she could tell that bit of truth had been realized by him too, and he hadn't liked it.

"We will consider it," he finally said, "But Rhaegar is our first choice."

"Agreed," she was pleased to do it. "And what of the betrothal between Jaime and Princess Elia?"

The corner of his lips tugged upwards slowly, "I can tell this has your full support."

"It does." She had no reason to lie. "I think it a good match."

"Your reasoning was sound," Tywin nodded, but he didn't elaborate on which way he was leaning.

"If that's not enough, Tywin, then do it for our son's happiness."

To others such a plea to Tywin Lannister would have them scoff and question her intelligence, but they didn't know her husband, like she did. After all it was the happiness and love they felt for another that inspired their marriage, not family obligation. A truth, she was thankful for, and one she felt she needed to remind her husband on occasion especially when he got too consumed by family and legacy.

"Jaime would be happy and thankful," she continued, "It's a better political marriage then ours." She raised an eyebrow at him as if waiting for him to try to challenge the truth in her statement.

"Would it be such a sacrifice for our family, for our legacy, to see our son happy on his wedding day, to love the woman he's going to marry?"

Tywin took her words in silence, eyes searching her face, lips forming a thin line, a look of reflection covering his expression. After a few heartbeats of quiet contemplation, he spoke, "I'll prepare a message for Prince Doran."

\---------------------------------

Cersei:

I'll never leave these chambers.

That had been Cersei's vow since she had been told that her betrothal between herself and her prince had been denied.

If I cannot be a Queen then I'll be no man's wife.

A storm fueled by her anger had gone through her chambers, nothing had escaped her wrath. She howled when she ripped and tossed her clothes. Glasses, figurines, had been thrown and broken which lay scattered across the floor. The curtains of her bed, hung limply, torn looking as if attacked by a savage beast.

Let the Rock tremble in my rage!

Looking at the damage she had done to her room, she couldn't help but feel pleased. A small consolation to the injustice done to her, but she couldn't deny the pride at seeing her wroth unleashed. It spoke to her power, and what a terrible thing her anger could be.

To her shame, it wasn't anger she had first felt at learning about the dismissed betrothal, but grief.

Cersei scrubbed at her tear stained cheeks, not wanting any lingering evidence of the weakness she felt when her betrothal to Rhaegar had been dismissed. She moved to the broken mirror on her vanity, a portion of the glass had shattered and pooled around the furniture to resemble a crystal puddle. The bottom portion of it remained so that she could inspect her appearance, however, she had to crouch to use it.

Red rimmed, puffy eyed, tear streak cheeks looked back at her.

This isn't me, she backed away from the reflection in disgust. I am a lioness not a scared little girl. She curled her lip in defiance towards the reflection of the weak, shameful thing that was staring back at her before turning away all together.

Lions don't cry, the cold, sharp voice of her father came to mind. A chilling reprimand that made her wince as if fearing he'd come to her chambers and see her in this state of disgrace.

Father also said I'd be Queen, she was reminded, but it might as well have been mocking her.

Cersei recalled how father had smiled the first time he had told her, she was seven or eight, he took her hand into his, and told her, One day, you will be the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, he then squeezed her hand.

That was when he had smiled. She'd never forget it, the slow twitch of the lips before they curved up. The gold flecks in his eyes seemed to gleam, as he held her hand in his. She had returned that smile, grinning in confidence, soaking in her father's affection, savoring it as he gave it to her and her alone.

It was hers, and nothing or no one could take that from her.

From there on, it had been his promise, their secret.

Now, it is nothing but a memory to ridicule her.

She clenched her fists. You promised me the Crown Prince! Cersei had wanted to scream at her father. I was to be Queen! Wanting to lash out at him after so many years of telling her and promising her that his plan would work, she'd marry Rhaegar, and be his Queen.

But where was he?

Father hadn't even come to tell her himself that the betrothal had been declined. That duty had fallen on Aunt Genna. Father had locked himself in his solar with her uncles and mother.

You've failed him, a cold voice whispered, chilling the simmering anger that had roused up in her chest. Why would he see you? Why would he want to? The cold voice pressed on with its questions.

I didn't fail! She wanted to shout back, I didn't have a chance. Cersei found her back hitting the wall. Shivering, she slid to the ground, hugging her legs, and biting her lip, her eyes watering.

"Cersei?"

She only had enough time to blink away her tears before she heard the door open, looking up through a curtain of golden curls to see her brother walking towards her.

"Cersei?" He said again, voice low and filled with concern.

"Jaime," she whispered, a haze of sadness swirling in her mind.

"I'm here," he crouched in front of her before enveloping her in an embrace.

She had forgotten how warm he was, how well she fit in his arms, breathing in his scent, as she put her arms around him, feeling his breath upon her throat was enough to elicit a shiver of pleasure to go down her spine.

One person, two hearts.

"Jaime," she felt as if she could get lost in this moment, in his embrace. I still have Jaime.

That was when he pulled away.

"What is it?" she mumbled, she didn't understand why he let go. She wrapped her arms around herself to shield the sudden cold that came upon her.

"It's nothing," he stood abruptly, a flicker of conflict dancing across his handsome face, before he shook his head, snapping himself out of whatever trance he seemed to be. "I-I just haven't hugged you since…"

"Ah," Cersei didn't need him to trail off awkwardly to understand what it was he was referring to.

"I heard about what happened," he scuffed his boot against the floor, "I'm sorry," he offered her his hand.

Cersei didn't take it. I'm not the weak damsel, brother. She gathered up her dress and got to her feet, ignoring his hand.

He pities me, she realized, and that disgusted her. I'm as strong and brave as you. She wanted to snap, but she restrained herself, seeing him before her, it wasn't comfort she felt coursing through her, but anger.

"I would've come sooner, but I was with Elia."

The informal way he spoke her name on his tongue was a bitter thing for Cersei to hear. "Elia," Cersei repeated the name mockingly, pleased to see him frowning at her. That's right, brother, I can fight too.

"Yes," he said nothing else.

"And she's more important than me?" Cersei snapped, "Your sister?"

Jaime didn't shrink or step back in the face of her wrath, nor did he cow to her like she was used to, "Elia is to be my wife," Jaime didn't bother to hide his smile or the way his eyes seemed to light up at his declaration.

"WHAT?"

Jaime smirked at her anger. "It is not official yet, Father only just sent a raven to Sunspear," he explained, "But Father spoke to me about it, and Mother talked to Elia," that smirk melting into a smile.

That smile which he used to give her, only for her, and now Cersei had to watch as it was intended for his precious, plain Dornish princess. How could he be happy when she was so miserable? They were supposed to be two hearts, one body…

"Prince Doran will meet father's terms," Jaime went on, oblivious to Cersei's righteous anger, "Elia was confident of it," he chuckled.

"Is that why you're here?" Cersei growled, "Come to gloat?" she relished the look of confusion that flashed across his face. He really was a fool, she thought, Elia can have him. I was a fool to think he could replace Rhaegar.

"No," he recovered, "I've come to say goodbye, Cersei." He stood up straighter, "Prince Daeron invited me to court, and father approved. I'm leaving with him tomorrow."

"GET OUT!" Cersei screamed, looking around at something to throw at her stupid brother. Her eyes landed on a vase, scooping it up, she hurled it at Jaime, who ducked as it careened over him before smashing into the floor. "GET OUT!"

"Now there's the mad dragon, Aerys would've wanted as his good daughter," Jaime japed, unbothered by her rage.

"Out!" Cersei howled. His indifference to her anger only fueled it, like kindling to a burning fire.

"I'll miss you too, sweet sister," he glided out of her room, before she could find another object to throw.

He got his princess, but she was denied her prince? She glared at the door he left from, her heart thundering like a war drum.

Where was the justice in that? Where was the wisdom?

Now her brother was leaving to go to the capital while she was stuck here.

I should be going to King's Landing.

That was where her prince was. Cersei knew that if she had time with Rhaegar, she could make him want her, love her. To convince his father of the merits of a match between them.

A sudden knock to her door pierced her thoughts on her future in the capital with Rhaegar.

"Cersei?"

"Tyrion?" She was surprised to hear her brother's voice on the other side of the closed door, since it was past his bedtime.

The door opened slowly, Tyrion's misshapen head poked through, "Cersei," his voice soft, and sleepy. He slid into her room, garbed in his red and gold sleeping attire.

"Tyrion, why are you not in bed?"

"I couldn't sleep," He didn't meet her gaze, eyes transfixed on the floor, "I-I heard about what happened," he said timidly, "I wanted to make sure you were alright." He looked up at the last part, mismatch eyes shimmering with sincerity.

"Oh Tyrion," her voice cracked at the love and concern her brother had for her. Unlike Jaime, she thought bitterly, her twin was happy to leave her for the capital with his princess.

She pushed those infuriating thoughts aside so that she could focus on her tenderhearted brother. Cersei cut the distance between them to wrap her youngest brother into her arms. Who would've thought that it was by holding Tyrion in her arms did she find some peace, feeling the weariness and frustration melt away.

"You spoil me," She kissed the top of his head.

He giggled, "I'm your, brother," he reminded her, "It's my duty."

Cersei laughed, "Is that so?"

He bobbed his head up and down.

"And it's my duty to see you back to your chambers," Cersei ignored how he pouted at that, "Before mother or father find out you've been sneaking around."

He ducked his head, fearful at getting caught especially by father. "It was only just this once."

"I know," she soothed the concern with a brief hug. "They'll hear none of this from me."

"Thanks!" He grinned.

She wondered if Jaime had been brave enough to tell Tyrion that he was abandoning them to go off to the capital. Cersei squashed the idea of asking her baby brother about it, not wanting to ruin the mood by bringing it up.

"Come," she lifted him off the ground. "It's time for bed," She stood up, carrying him. "And this time you need to stay in bed."

He yawned, "I will."

"I know you will."

They were nearly to her door when he spoke again. "You'd be a great Queen."

Cersei felt tears swell in her eyes at her brother's sincere endorsement. 

"Someday," she said softly, leaving the chambers with him in her arms, "Someday."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to extend my thanks to 'FierceKat' for taking the time to leave a comment. It means a lot to get feedback from the audience. 
> 
> Until next time,
> 
> -Spectre4hire


	7. 278 AC: Duty

278 AC

Joanna:

"You wanted to see me, mother?"

"I did," Joanna's hands still holding the letter from her husband.

The time has come, her husband's voice whispered to her. She was expecting this day for some time, but it didn't make it any easier.

Putting aside her own feelings on the matter, she turned to see her daughter standing before her, a curious hue in those bright green eyes. Cersei had flowered and was maturing into a beautiful young woman, golden hair cascading down past her shoulders, emerald colored eyes, fair skin, and a slender figure, that had entranced servants and visiting noblemen alike.

Far more beautiful than me, she thought wryly. It wasn't envy that came to her, but apprehension. Joanna knew what lurked in the hearts of men having experienced unwanted advances and fending them off when she was younger.

She had no doubt her daughter's beauty would entice many men, stirring their lusts and bringing with it unsolicited attention. They'd prey on her youth and ingratiate their way into her good graces with false charm and honeyed lies, before trying to worm their way between her legs.

The thought let alone the image of her daughter being victim to such vermin was enough for the Lioness of Casterly Rock to clench her fingers tightly around her husband's letter while a snarl threatened to slip past her lips. She smothered it, not wanting to show any frustration or concern in front of her daughter especially when she was about to send her off to the very place that bothered her so much.

She'll be safe, Joanna told herself, knowing Cersei's best shield from these men was the crimson and gold she wore, and of the roaring lion.

Only a fool would try to insult House Lannister. At that reminder, relief and gratefulness filled her towards her husband, at their family's reputation that not only had he restored but had maintained. It was their family's unquestioned standing and power within the Seven Kingdoms that protected her and her children from those who would try to do them harm.

Built on the bodies of dead children, Joanna ignored the reminder, better theirs then mine. Not caring how cold that sounded, she loved her children and her family. She'd make no apology for that. Neither did her husband when he brought ruin to the rebellious Reynes and Tarbecks. They threatened their family's standing, and Tywin was bold and brave enough to answer-swiftly, and brutally. An answer that warned all that House Lannister was a family to be reckoned with.

She returned herself to the present to see she had her daughter's attention. Cersei's eyes drifted from hers and to the letter in her hand. A flicker of realization came to her face, lips parted as if to form a soft, oh, in understanding.

"Please, come sit," she gestured to the table, walking side by side with her daughter who already stood at her height, and was still growing. Joanna watched as Cersei gracefully slid into her seat, elegant in her movement, and poised in her posture, quietly waiting for her to continue.

"A letter from your father," Joanna didn't waste time, noticing how Cersei took to the simple sentence with unhidden interest, "He believes its time you come to court." She watched her daughter's eyes widened, a smile came to her lips, a bit of red to her cheeks, which Joanna suspected was due to certain thoughts on the Crown Prince.

"Truly?" Cersei breathed with unveiled excitement, eyes flashing, "When do I leave?" She sounded breathless with giddiness.

"In two days' time," Joanna ignored the slight pang in her chest at seeing her daughter's enthusiasm in leaving her and their home.

"Two days?" Cersei's smile which had been as bright as the sun suddenly dimmed. "Why can't I leave sooner?" Impatience seeped into her tone, and eyes darkened with annoyance.

"Your Uncle Tygett will be gathering a retinue of soldiers and knights to escort you."

Put out by the news, Cersei was smart enough to not further complain, and nodded her head in understanding, "Very well," she acquiesced, but with how her mouth curved, it was clear, she was doing it out of obedience and nothing else. "May I go pack?"

"You may," Joanna allowed, watching her daughter slip out of her seat and make a hasty, but still dignified retreat out of the chambers, it was at the door, that she stopped her daughter, "Cersei," she called, "You must tell Tyrion."

Cersei turned at that, elation discarded with a look of guilt flickering across her face, eyes downcast. "I-I had forgotten," she admitted sheepishly. She remained like that for a few more heartbeats, before Cersei raised her head, eyes determined, "I will tell him now." Her fingers fidgeting on the sleeves of her dress "Assure him that I'll write often," she continued, "and will insist to father that we visit when we can or he can visit us," her voice trembled at the last part. Knowing the challenge, it would be in convincing him to let Tyrion visit them in the capital.

"Good," Joanna comforted her daughter with a small smile, "He'll understand, but in time."

Cersei nodded, and left the chambers more burdened then elated.

Joanna had not meant to hamper her daughter's good mood, but Tyrion needed to be told. She remembered how poorly Tyrion had taken to Jaime leaving. An offer that had been sprung on them unexpectedly, a hasty decision being made that had Jaime suddenly leaving the Rock. Having only time to tell his younger brother, an hour or so before he left.

The reminder of what happened was enough for Joanna's heart to ache. Tyrion had cried, pleaded for his brother to stay with him, grasping his leg, begging and believing that if he did something differently than Jaime would stay with him. She remembered the anguish look on her son's face at seeing his brother in such a state, and knew that he was regretting the choice in that moment to leave Tyrion.

Tywin had not been pleased by their youngest's outburst. However, he was calm and almost gentle in his reprimand of Tyrion, taking him to the side, and quietly reminding him that as a pride, lions had to be strong for one another and that what Jaime was doing was to help make their family stronger. Tyrion always wanting to please him quickly wiped away his tears, absorbing everything that he said, before readily agreeing to do the same for the family when the time had come.

Joanna wouldn't forget her husband's response to that. A small smile before he then gently patted Tyrion on the back before telling him to hug his brother and wish him well in the capital. Which Tyrion promptly did. Tywin had then told Tyrion to continue with his studies and that he was expecting the reports by Maester Desmond to remain glowing even after Jaime's departure.

And they do, Joanna thought with pride, having been given similar reports each week by the maester. Her happiness towards her youngest curdled slightly when her thoughts returned to how Tyrion would take to Cersei leaving. They had always been close, a tight bond that only strengthened and grew when Jaime left for the capital, and she wondered and feared how Tyrion would react...

\----------------------

"Is this necessary?"

"It is," Joanna chose to ignore her daughter's sharp tone. She understood that Cersei was in a vulnerable and taxing state after having to tell Tyrion of her leaving for the capital. It did not go well, but regardless, Joanna had requested her daughter's presence after supper. The two had much to discuss and plan for Cersei's time in King's Landing.

Joanna had chosen to use the solar to hold this important meeting. She sat at the end of the table with her daughter sitting to her immediate right, candles flickered with light, and glowing embers burned from the hearth providing warmth. A glass of wine within reach of her while her daughter had to settle for lemon water, something she didn't care for if Cersei's envious glances towards Joanna's wine was any indication.

"You may be a lioness, but you walk into a viper's den," Joanna observed, "A rat's nest of intrigue and schemes."

"What does a lion fear of snakes or rats?" Cersei scoffed.

"Even a mighty lion can fall if pricked by a poisonous fang," Joanna sipped from her wine glass, "or have its pride lead it towards its own doom."

Cersei ducked her head.

"Your confidence is admirable, my dear," She said soothingly towards her daughter, placing a finger beneath her chin, and gently pushing up so that she could meet Cersei's eyes. "You have made us proud," She noticed the swell in Cersei's chest at the praise, "But do not mistake cautiousness for cowardice."

"I won't," Cersei assured her, determination shimmering beneath her green eyes.

"Good," she removed her hand from her daughter's chin, "Only a fool goes into battle without a plan, and I assure you darling, this is our battle."

"I'll get the betrothal," Cersei promised, "I can make Rhaegar love me."

"I do not doubt it," She agreed, "But the King has sent his friend across the Narrow Sea to look for a Valyrian bride for his son and heir." That had been in the most recent letter from her husband, informing her of Steffon Baratheon and his wife traveling in search for a bride for Rhaegar. That had prompted Tywin to decide it was time to bring Cersei to court.

"Across the sea?" Cersei sniffed derisively at that, "Foreigners?" Her tone haughty and dismissive.

"The Targaryens have married outside of Westerosi families before."

"It will not matter," confidence filled her daughter's tone, "The Crown Prince will not want some stranger once he sees and speaks with me." She straightened up in her seat, her poise assured, her eyes gleaming with images conjured in her mind, no doubt, of her successful betrothal between herself and Rhaegar.

"Is that so?" Joanna admired her daughter's confidence and could not fault it, but she did not like to see it lean too closely towards foolishness. A slip that needed to be corrected.

"There are other potential suitors already in the capital." She saw Cersei's confidence slip. "They've been around the Crown Prince for weeks if not months." Joanna didn't like to puncture her daughter's hopes, but she needed Cersei to understand the task ahead of them, and accept it may be more daunting then she envisioned.

"Lady Ashara Dayne has been there for a month," Joanna had heard stories of Lady Ashara's beauty which many considering her one of the fairest ladies in the Seven Kingdoms. Her brother and Lord of Starfall had already declined numerous requests for his sister's hand in marriage from suitors across Westeros. Trying to use his sister's famed beauty and his brother's friendship to the Crown Prince to secure a betrothal between his house and House Targaryen.

"A Dayne?" Cersei scoffed, but there was nervousness shimmering beneath her green eyes. She tried to mask it. "Our family has more wealth then they could dream of having!"

"True, but you forget that her brother is Rhaegar's closest friend and a sworn knight of the Kingsguard." She saw Cersei's pose falter, "The Daynes have also married into House Targaryen before. An advantage we do not have."

A bitter admission to make, and a disadvantage, they had to accept. Joanna put her dissatisfaction aside knowing it served as nothing more than a hindrance. She was determined to see her family not the Daynes win this pursuit of the crown prince. Despite her reservations on the match itself, Joanna understood her duty to husband and house.

This is the role we women play. Our duty to our fathers, husbands, families.

A role she taught her daughter, and a duty she imparted Cersei to embrace. Even when it meant that she'd have to endure the parting of her child. An acrimonious feeling that soured her stomach. Seeing Cersei leave for the capital was a difficult and a different farewell then the one Joanna had already experienced when Jaime left for King's Landing.

Jaime's future would bring him back to the Rock, to her. Even as a man and then a husband, and a father, and a lord, Jaime would still be a constant presence in her life for the remainder of her days, but not her Cersei.

Her daughter's departure from the Rock were the first steps down a different path that led away from Joanna. Cersei's duty would be to her husband, and to their new family. If it be with Rhaegar it would be Dragonstone and then King's Landing she'd call her home, no longer the Rock. She'd visit as is expected of a dutiful daughter, but they would be few and far between and only grow scarcer as they got older. A mother to her own children, with responsibilities that kept Cersei away from the Rock and towards her own family.

"Mother?"

"Hmm?" Joanna blinked back into the present, looking to see Cersei's inquisitive eyes on her. Chiding herself for letting such melancholy thoughts distract her. "My apologies dear," She smiled, hoping to temper her daughter's stare, "You were saying?"

If she was annoyed by having to repeat herself, Cersei didn't show it. "I was asking what else I needed to know."

"Oh?" That caught her off guard.

"Yes, mother," Cersei was earnest in her answer and in her expression, "I-I don't want to disappoint you and father."

"Darling," Joanna's heart ached for the fear she detected in her daughter's tone at the thought of disappointing them. Realizing Cersei's newfound concern must have stemmed from Joanna's talk of the Daynes and the other rivals for a betrothal with Rhaegar and of the very real possibility Cersei could fail to any one of these women.

Joanna moved her hands across the table and took Cersei's hands in her own. "Do not talk like that, not ever," She squeezed her daughter's hands, looking to see her words sinking in, "You understand?" she was pleased at the shaky nod she received.

"You will make us proud," her hands remained clasped with her daughter's, "especially if you listen to your dear mother," she saw a smile bloom on Cersei's face, a giggle followed that brought a matching smile to Joanna's lips.

"Now, where were we."

\-------------------------------------

Rhaella:

"I'm a dragon!" Viserys padded across the floor on pale, chubby legs. Flapping his arms as if they were leathery wings and letting out roars.

Rhaella smiled from where she sat on the sofa. Where she had the perfect view of watching her youngest son's antics. Two years old and he was proving to be quite the handful. Viserys was temperamental and energetic in ways that his older brothers hadn't been. He left servants and guards scurrying after him when he was in the mood to play. While also having them endure his loud tantrums and protests when he was being willful.

He was quick to petulance when he wasn't given his way, complaining and crying, but he could smile and giggle with little provocation. It was with his older brother Daeron that Viserys was at his most well behaved, adoring his older brother, and following him around when he could and begging him to stay and play with him when he visited.

Daeron wasn't bothered at all by the attention or the affection of his younger brother. To Rhaella's pride and delight, Daeron had taken to the role of older brother with ease and enthusiasm, doting on Viserys whenever he could. Viserys seemed to soak it all up, and was quick to clamor for more, receiving little from his father or from Rhaegar, the former was a blessing as far as Rhaella was concerned. While the latter wasn't surprising, knowing how distant her Rhaegar could be.

However, he would visit and play his harp for Viserys when he would settle down or be quiet long enough to listen, but those times came more out of Rhaella's prodding then Rhaegar volunteering. Not that she faulted her eldest. He had responsibilities that Daeron didn't have with much more on his mind and his schedule, that kept him busy throughout most of the day and into the night.

"Your Grace?"

Rhaella blinked to see the newest member of the Kingsguard and the one assigned to her for the day, Ser Alliser Thorne. He was standing by the doorway, a guard dressed in the Targaryen colors at his side. The Crownland knight had been hand selected by Aerys to replace Ser Harlan Grandison who had perished defending the King in the Duskendale uprising.

Tywin had suggested several knights for the prestigious opening including Prince Lewyn Martell of Dorne, but each one was rebuffed by her husband. Aerys' time in Duskendale had frayed his senses and churned his paranoia. He would not be malleable to Tywin's suggestions instead relying on his new spymaster, a eunuch from the Free Cities, Varys. Aerys had come to select the Crownland knight, Ser Alliser Thorne to fill the coveted position.

"Yes, Ser Alliser?" Looking to the knight, just over thirty, garbed in the white of his order. He was slim and strong, with black hair and black eyes, that stuck out in his pale armor. He was dour, but diligent in his duties with a sharp voice. Regardless, he took his role seriously, and most importantly Rhaella never had cause to doubt his skill or his loyalty.

"Word from the gatehouse," he informed her, "Prince Daeron has returned from his hunt."

Viserys exploded with a loud cheer at the news, babbling happily and smiling at hearing the return of his brother who he had clearly missed these last few days.

"Thank you, Ser Alliser," Rhaella smiled towards the knight, "Could you have him sent here when he arrives."

"As you wish, Your Grace," Ser Alliser bowed his head and escorted the guard out of the room instructing him of the message and making sure it was delivered.

She was surprised by the news of her son's return, having not expected him to return for another few days. He had left less than a week ago with a small retinue of guards and servants as well as his closest friend, Jaime Lannister, his sworn shield, Ser Gwayne Gaunt, and his newest friends, Robert Baratheon and Eddard Stark. The two of them having arrived at the capital some weeks ago with Lord Jon Arryn to allow his ward, Robert to see and send off his parents who were embarking on a search to find a bride for Rhaegar across the Narrow Sea on Aerys' behalf.

Robert Baratheon and Eddard Stark hadn't been expected to stay in King's Landing for long once Robert's parents had departed, with Robert going back to Storm's End to act as Lord and Eddard to return to the north to visit his family back at Winterfell. However, an unanticipated friendship had been struck between the two wards of Lord Arryn with Daeron and Jaime with the four young men all being of a similar age.

A development that made Rhaella pleased, delighted at seeing Daeron with new friends and strong friendships. Before Jaime came to the capital, Daeron had few if any friends, having spent most of his time alone in the Red Keep, his companions or friends in the form of the knights and guards who protected him.

No boy should have that life, she thought, especially not her son.

It hadn't helped that while Daeron was alone, his older brother Rhaegar had a group of friends and admirers, squires and pages, who followed him around.

The arrival of Tywin's son and heir to the Red Keep had been an unexpected boon. Rhaella had been thrilled upon learning of the fast friendship that had formed between Jaime and Daeron while her son had been away at Casterly Rock to attend the tournament. Her gladness only deepening at seeing it firsthand and watching it grow these past two years.

In seeing them, it reminded her in some way of their fathers and the friendship they shared in their youth, along with Steffon Baratheon. Rhaella could still recall fondly of the times just after Aerys had been crowned King and had named his friend, Tywin to serve as his Hand. Back then, she, Aerys, and Tywin would get together for drinks either in Maegor's Holdfast or at the Tower of the Hand. There, Aerys would spin stories, entertaining and delightful that would bring laughter from her lips and smiles from the reserved Tywin. Her husband had a gift of charm once. He'd ply it well, and few if any were resistant to it.

How we've changed, she thought with a touch of sadness. Aerys friendship with Tywin fractured and seemingly damaged beyond repair. While her husband's time as a prisoner in Duskendale had leeched whatever charm and goodness that had once resided in him. Confinement had twisted him into a man who leapt at shadows, feared delusions, and cursed the whisperers whether real or imagined.

"Dae!" Viserys' excited greeting pulled her out of her thoughts in time to see Viserys running into the open arms of Daeron, who smiled and scooped him up.

"Hello, brother, miss me?"

"Yes!" He giggled when Daeron tickled him.

Rhaella watched her sons' interaction with a smile. Thankful at the affection between them. "You're back early."

"Aye, a rider tracked us down," Daeron revealed, all joviality he had just shared with his brother snuffed in an instant. "We were ordered to return."

This was the first she was hearing of this.

"Father summoned me."

Those simple words brought a shiver down her back. A testament to the man her husband has become. A tingling of pain bloomed from the bruises on her arms, another reminder of the cruel man her husband had shifted into. Rhaella brushed her hands across her sleeved arms, as if trying to soothe the pain that lingered, while also wanting to push down the memory that threaten to bubble up from Aerys' visit to her chambers the night before last.

"Ah, Your Grace, My Prince," the soft girlish voice of the Eunuch Varys brought her eyes to the door to see him standing in the doorway. Bald as an egg, dressed in rich, pale silks, his powdered hands clasped together in front of his bulging stomach, a smile on his smooth face, that curdled the Queen's stomach.

She had no love for her husband's newest member of his small council, Lord Varys, the Master of Whisperers, a eunuch from Lys. He boasted an impressive spy network throughout Essos that caught her husband's interest resulting him an invite to come to Westeros and to serve the king.

"Lord Varys," Rhaella made herself smile at the eunuch. "What a surprise."

"Your Grace," Varys bowed towards her before his eyes turned to Daeron who stood silent and sullen as he stared at the Eunuch, "My prince," he greeted smoothly, looking unbothered by Daeron's chilly reception, "I had heard you returned to the Red Keep, but I wasn't sure."

Daeron cut through Varys' poorly played humility, "Spare me, Lord Varys," Daeron had Viserys to his side, a protective hand on his brother's shoulder, while his eyes remained on the Eunuch. "We both know your birds sang to you of my progress throughout my return trip back to the capital."

Varys giggled, "your bluntness is refreshing, my prince," he ducked his head in deference, "You are right about my birds, but I'd be a poor spy master if they didn't sing to me."

"Lord Varys," Rhaella called to him, "is there something I can help you with?"

"Your Grace, such a helpful soul," his smile was sickly sweet when he turned to her, "I come with a message from the king. He has requested an audience with Prince Daeron and is awaiting him in the Great Hall."

"Then let us not keep him waiting."

\------------------------

"Ah, my son," Aerys greeted Daeron with a thin smile while his eyes held a suspicious hue to them as he took in the kneeling prince. The King of the Seven Kingdoms sat atop the infamous Iron Throne, a seat of steel and spikes, a skulking monstrosity that looked more like a beast than a chair.

It served as a testament to Targaryen dominion over Westeros, each blade that made the throne taken by Aegon the Conqueror and his sister/wives from their fallen and defeated foes. Forged by the dragonflame of Aegon's dragon, Balerion the Black Dread, it took nearly sixty days to hammer and carve the swords into the Iron Throne that stood before them. Steps of steel swords etched into it to make the incline up to the seat itself, with the Iron Throne resting atop a platform, it towered over anything or person in the Great Hall.

A king should never sit easy, those were the words of Aegon the Conqueror on his decision in making the Iron Throne. She couldn't help but find them fitting as Rhaella looked up at her husband, seeing him squirm in the seat knowing the Throne had pricked and poked him, drawing blood with its unflinching touch multiple times in his reign.

"Father," Daeron greeted the king cordially.

Upon arriving to the Great Hall, she noticed her eldest Rhaegar was already there, standing quietly off to the side with Ser Arthur Dayne at his side. He had greeted her with a nod and a small smile. Standing at the base of the Iron Throne were the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Ser Gerold Hightower on one side and Ser Jonothor Derry on the other.

Rhaella had chosen a spot off to the side of the Iron Throne as it loomed above her. Choosing a position that would allow her to see the interactions between her husband and their children clearly. The Hall was empty, and she found herself grateful for that. Not having to be watched and judged as she listened or reacted to whatever reason her husband had decided to summon her sons. It was a small mercy, but one she savored all the same.

What is the meaning of this, husband? She wanted to ask of her brother, trepidation stewed in her stomach, a chilly finger of unease trailing down her back at trying to figure out what her husband was planning. A difficult task as it forced her to sort through his delusions and madness. Over the course of the past year, his reign was marred by cruelty and fear.

Whatever it was, she knew her husband well enough to know this wouldn't be good. Masking her worry as she looked towards her silent sons, neither speaking or addressing the other as they stood below their father beneath the Iron Throne. She knew it was no accident this summons location was here, a chance for Aerys to remind them all of his position as their king and them his loyal subjects.

Aerys' silvery hair fell past his shoulders in a tangled, matted mess. The King having refused any bath or groom since he escaped Duskendale. His finger nails had grown long and dirty, an unkempt beard covered his face with the tip of his beard nearly reaching his chest. Pale sunken eyes looked out from his unwashed face, looking down at his son before him.

"Forgive my delay, father," Daeron apologized, still kneeling, "I rode as quickly as I could."

She could see her husband enjoyed holding this power over their son. "You may rise."

Daeron quietly obeyed, standing straight, his hands behind his back, his eyes staying on the Iron Throne after only a brief flicker in his brother's direction.

"I have a gift for my sons," Aerys snapped his fingers.

Duskendale should have been your grave, she thought darkly. Discovering nothing good had come from rescuing her husband from his prison within the walls of the crownland port. Rhaegar was ready to rule, he was fit and just and could guide Westeros to a brighter and prosperous future. Instead Aerys was saved and now he plagued and worried the capital and the Seven Kingdoms of his growing paranoia and obsession with delusion and flame.

The Gods mock my prayers, she thought bitterly. She had prayed for deliverance from her husband's clutches when he was taken prisoner. A selfish admission, but one she made freely. She sought peace and freedom, and knew she'd never feel such relief if her husband's shadow remained cast over her. She had prayed before to the Gods when she was freshly betrothed to her brother, hoping for a way out of her marriage, but one never came.

The Gods had been silent to her pleas. So Rhaella did what was expected of her, she did her duty to her parents and married her brother for the good of Westeros and of House Targaryen. Just like before, the Gods didn't answer her and after months of confinement Aerys returned to her. Another chance of separation snatched from her, and she believed herself punished by said quiet gods at the monster her husband became, and the treatment that followed by his hand.

Her finger gently brushing across a bruise that he left upon her arm, she had been sore and weak from his ravenous groping. The only solace she had was after he finished was that he left. There in the darkness, bruised and in tears, she understood she was receiving an answer to her prayers. This punishment for her sinful thoughts and hopes of a life away from her husband.

"Dark Sister," Daeron gasped in astonishment.

Rhaella looked to see a servant had walked out from the Small Council chambers, carrying a plush and velvet pillow, black and red stitching, with no doubt the Targaryen dragon emblazoned on it. Atop the pillow rested the famous valyrian steel sword of her ancestors, Dark Sister.

"That's right, my son," Aerys sounded pleased that he had correctly guessed it.

Upon hearing the sword's identity, Rhaegar looked to the famous valyrian steel sword of their ancestors with great interest.

"One sword," Aerys announced, "but two sons." He smiled through his silvery beard, showing his yellowing teeth. "That is why I have decided only the strongest, and most skilled of my sons will have the honor of being given Dark Sister."

No, Aerys, Rhaella wanted to scream at her husband. The cold creep of understanding crawling up her spine as she saw through her husband's schemes and what it meant for her beloved sons.

Aerys stood up, "A week from now, you my children will fight and prove your worth to me in a duel of single combat; with the victor being granted the right of this sword for it to remain with them and their heirs."

They want it, fear gripped her heart with icy claws. Neither of her boys protesting their father's decision. Her eyes darting to their faces first to her eldest, Rhaegar, whose expression was contemplative and then to Daeron, whose look was determined. It was Dark Sister they wanted. Neither looked to have any qualms with fighting each other to get the famous weapon, and in the process to earn some small amount of favor from their father.

What have you done? Her eyes moved to her husband, her stomach turned at seeing the look that passed across his face. The smile that curved from beneath his mangy beard or the way his eyes seemed to dance in the torchlight.

Instead of their sons coming together to challenge their father. He brought them into conflict with each other, strengthening his position while weakening theirs. A show of power. He was going to tear their family apart.

He was pitting their children against each other for his own gain and she hated him for it. But not as much as she hated herself unable to defy him or shield her sons from his poisonous machinations.

In that moment, all she could do was watch and it broke her heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple of things I want to address quickly that come up in this chapter:
> 
> That's right, Alliser is in the Kingsguard. What's the point of AUs, if you can't have some fun? In this story it was Harlan Grandison who was killed instead of Gwayne Gaunt at Duskendale since in this story, Gaunt serves as Daeron's sworn shield.
> 
> It's implied or hinted that Varys comes into Aerys' service after Lord Steffon's death, but for this story, I liked the idea of Varys coming earlier in the immediate aftermath of Duskendale. 
> 
> Yep, that's right, Dark Sister makes an appearance, the famous valyrian steel sword of House Targaryen. Its fate is unknown but it's believed to have disappeared with Brynden Rivers when he went missing beyond the Wall. That isn't the case in this AU, obviously. It was left behind at the Wall and then sent back to King's Landing at some point after Rivers disappeared.
> 
> Don't forget to drop a kudos and a comment. It means a lot to get your feedback.
> 
> Until next time,
> 
> -Spectre4hire


	8. Discord

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Persephone_Lancaster, Dalia, SammyLovesASOIAF, FierceKat, KOF, and The 11th for taking the time and dropping a comment on the last chapter. It means a lot to me to read your feedback.

278 AC

Cersei:

"Let me look upon my daughter."

She stepped forward at her father's command. Standing straight and proud, refusing to show any hint of weariness from the long travels. Her wheelhouse having only just arrived to the city and when it reached the Tower of the Hand, she was immediately summoned by her father.

Cersei understood she didn't have the luxury of such complaints especially when the recipient to them was her father. So she kept quiet and still, and waited for her father to address her. She hadn't seen him since his last visit to the Rock which had been almost a year ago, but as she looked at her father before her, he looked much the same.

He sat behind his desk. His quill in his hands, scratching the tip of it along the parchment, face set in concentration. Satisfied, he put the quill down and raised his head, his sharp green eyes with flecks of gold met Cersei's gaze, who was quick to curtsey, which she did flawlessly.

"Father," she followed up with while standing up from her bow.

"Daughter," He returned the greeting, his expression unreadable, his eyes then flicked to the silent servants and guards throughout the room. "Leave us." His commanding tone sent them scuttling out of the room. It was only when the last one left, did his eyes return to her. A smile slowly came to his mouth that alleviated the seriousness of his expression. "You are beautiful, child." He raised his hand and gestured for her to come closer.

Silently thrilled at her father's words, she moved to cut the distance between them, seeing him stand from his seat, even in her growth these past few years, he still seemed to tower over her. When they were within reach his strong arms gently were put upon her, as he embraced her, a light kiss to her forehead followed. "How is your Mother?"

"She is well, Father," Cersei answered while relishing the affection and attention from her father.

"Good," he sounded pleased. "She is a strong woman, but she is still a mother." The embrace ended, but his hands remained on her shoulders. "I am sure she is cross with me for having taken you after already having Jaime in the capital with me." A faint amusing glint could be seen in his eyes, making the flecks of gold standout even more.

"Where is Jaime?" She had expected some sort of greeting from her twin whether at the city gates or at the Tower of the Hand, but he was nowhere to be found or seen. An absence that annoyed her, and though she wouldn't admit especially to her twin, but hurt her.

"He is with the Prince," Tywin answered, "He and Prince Daeron have become good friends since your brother came to the capital." Her father's tone was rich with approval at the friendship struck between the two young men.

The spare prince, she thought sourly. Why couldn't he befriend Rhaegar? The man who would one day be king. Was Jaime so foolish as to not understand the benefits that would come from being able to call such a powerful man, a friend? Or even better the power that could be his if he had the trust of a king.

"I see," Cersei left her thoughts on her brother's poor decisions to herself. It seemed it fell solely on her to win Rhaegar's affection. Help from her twin would have been a boon, but she should've known better than to rely on Jaime for anything, unless you needed something hit with a sword or to be told some dumb jape.

"Your brother is doing his part, Cersei," Her father said as if sensing her internal disappointment in Jaime, she looked up to see his eyes were on. There was no longer a glint to be seen or a smile on his lips, a mask of stone had been slipped over replacing any familiar hint that was she looking upon her father.

"It is time for you to do your part."

"I understand, Father," Cersei said at once, not wanting even a second of doubt to pass in his mind that he couldn't rely on her.

That pleased him, he nodded, his hands giving her shoulders a squeeze before he dropped them to his side, and returned to his seat. Cersei took the silent instruction and moved around the desk to one of the seats in front of him.

"The time of waiting is over," He continued, "Many Lords have sent their daughters or sisters here in hopes of snaring the Crown Prince." A look of annoyance crossed over his expression, "Regardless of these pitiful attempts, none of them possess your beauty," he tilted his head towards her, "Or the wealth and power of our family."

The urge to wilt under the pressure placed upon her shoulders was great, and had she been another woman, she may have, but she was not them. She was a Lioness of the Rock. Cersei understood her duty and the expectations placed upon her by her father.

She would make him proud. She had to.

"Give me time, Father, and I will have Rhaegar himself make the request to the king," She informed him, hoping her tone sounded confident to her father's ears, while ignoring the slight trepidation that rooted itself through cold tendrils within her stomach. Thankfully, he seemed to have believed her, and to her relief and a boost to her confidence, her father rewarded her words with a smile that she took as pride.

"I know," he assured her, and then the smile was gone. "You must be tired from your travels, bathe and rest. We do not want Rhaegar's first impression of you since you've flowered to be of a dirty and tired woman." His attention returned to the papers on his desk. The signal was clear. She was dismissed.

Cersei stood from her seat, trying to ignore the slight sting she felt at her father with his parting words and action. As slowly as she could without looking like she was dallying walked across his office, hoping for him to stop her, to give her one last affectionate smile or parting, but all she felt was disappointment when she reached the door and was given only silence. She looked over her shoulder to see her father engrossed in his work and with that last sight, she slipped out of his office and made for her chambers.

\----------------------------

"Sister," her twin ambled into the room, hours later.

Cersei looked at him from her seat at her vanity, knowing at once from his appearance that he had been in the sparring yard. His hair was disheveled, face sweaty, crimson tunic was wrinkled and his trousers were dirty. He didn't even bother to change before greeting her.

Anger lashed within her chest at her brother. Here she sat, wrought with nerves that slithered inside her stomach like eels. While here her brother stood without a care in the world, who couldn't even be bothered to greet her when her caravan arrived.

It was maddening!

Was she the only one who had her family's interest first?

Did he care nothing of her plight? She mused, feeling a pang of pain at the possibility that her twin could. Was he that selfish to not even consider her feelings and fears at what was put before her?

I can do this, she thought to herself, trying to still the doubt that had nested itself within her, gnawing away at her confidence and her poise. The excitement and infatuation of being Rhaegar's wife and queen melting away upon realization at the trying task before her. Her father was already rejected once by King Aerys in a match between her and his son and heir.

Who is to say this time will be different?

"Cersei?" a look of concern touched his face, eyes searching hers, "Is something troubling you?" He tentatively made his way towards her as if afraid she may either flee or attack him if he got too close.

Yes! She wanted to scream, but she couldn't. She couldn't handle if her brother reacted with a laugh or a jape at her expense, exposing her fear for his amusement. "I-I," she faltered, "am just tired from my travels."

He frowned, not looking fooled by her lie, but she was thankful when he didn't press. "It can be exhausting," he admitted, "It is a long road from here to the Rock." His voice softened at the mention of their home, "How's Tyrion?"

Tears pricked her eyes as the memory of her brother sobbing in their mother's arms clawed its way back to the forefront of her mind. "He didn't handle it well." She dabbed at her tears with a swift flick of her fingers.

Jaime didn't see the movement as he had ducked his head, "I will speak to father." He said after a few heartbeats of silence, "To see if he will allow Tyrion to travel here."

"You know father's answer," Cersei pointed out sadly.

His head darted up. "What would you have me do?" He growled, eyes flashed angrily, but she wasn't certain at who the anger was directed at: her or inwardly towards himself. Just as quickly the anger dissipated and a look of remorse spread across his face, "Forgive me," he sounded sincere. "I miss him dearly."

"I know," she missed him too, and she had only just left while Jaime hadn't visited the Rock in months.

"Have you been shown around?"

"No," she answered, silently hoping that Prince Rhaegar would give her the honor, but she realized that was a silly dream, and one she must abandon if she planned on getting his attention. I cannot rely on him to seek me out, she reminded herself. I must search for him. I am the Lioness, the hunter.

"Then allow me to remedy that," he held out his arm for her, "a way to atone for not being here when you arrived."

"Very well," She acquiesced, realizing this was her chance to learn about her new surroundings. She stood from her vanity and joined her brother. Cersei tucked her hand into the nook of his arm, and couldn't help but wonder when was the last time she was this close to him? Or the last time they were this civil to one another?

Jaime looked pleased, "Good, let us begin."

\-------------------------------

While informative and more fun then she would've thought, Cersei couldn't shake the disappointment that clung to her when she and Jaime reached her chambers. It wasn't the end of the tour that made this feeling of dissatisfaction churn in her, but what they didn't see during it.

There had been no sign or hint of the presence of the Crown Prince, the target of her father's ambitions and her affection. There had been plenty of servants and guards, but no dragon had been seen during their walk through the castle and surrounding grounds.

It's only your first day, a soft voice reminded her, which to her sounded like that of her mother. Attempting to soothe away the bubbling discontent in her stomach. A day wasted all the same, another voice spoke up, rigid and stern, her father's voice.

She wanted to sigh, to cry, the nerves tangled in her tummy like wrestling snakes. All stemming from one man, her beloved Crown Prince and the responsibility that fell on her.

I cannot chafe from my duty, she reminded herself.

"Cersei?"

Her brother's voice and the lilt of his tone brought her eyes to him, he was standing in front of her. His lips pressed, she recognized the look easily enough, he was her twin after all, and knew he had something on his mind. "It was lovely, brother," she recited, believing he had asked her about the tour when her mind had wandered. "Thank you," she added. It was seeing his reaction did she realize she erred in her judgment about what it was she thought her brother had been saying to her.

"Are you well?"

"I'm fine," she replied, sharper then she intended watching her brother wince at her tone, "My apologies, Jaime," She sat down at the edge of her bed. Thankful for the reprieve and comfort of her soft mattress.

"Is it, father?" Jaime surprised her with his question.

"No," She answered too quickly to sound convincing. She expected her brother's stupid grin and foolish jape at having been caught in a lie, but she received neither. Instead her brother was looking at her with something she hadn't seen since they were younger-Sympathy.

It should have angered her. She didn't want pity or sympathy. She demanded respect, adoration, not this, and especially not from her brother, but she found herself too tired to muster any sort of anger to punish him, mulling in sullen silence as she was beginning to think her task was doomed before it could even start.

"The Crown Prince?" He guessed, green eyes searching her face, and even in her pride she knew she couldn't contest his answer with a convincing lie, so she nodded. He sighed at that, his boot scoffed the floor, "I'm sorry, sister."

"For what?" She blinked, confused not just at her brother's sentiment but the words themselves.

He looked at her as if it should've been obvious, "For not helping you." He sounded contrite, but then something flickered in his eyes, "But I can now." He moved to sit beside her, "I am not friends with the Crown Prince, but I do know some things about him."

"Really, you will?" She was caught off guard by her brother's offer of help. Feeling her own heart lift at this new torrent of hope that filled her.

"Of course," he answered her, a hand hesitantly hovering over her lap where her hands were resting before he made the decision and placed his on top of hers.

"Oh, thank you, Jaime!" Before she could stop herself, she hugged him, a gesture that caught him off-guard given the lateness of his hands reaching her back. She ended the embrace before it could linger and form as a reminder of what they once had and felt when they were children.

We're different then, she reminded herself, he has his princess, and soon I'll have my prince, she felt a smile forming on her lips.

"He spends his time with only a few individuals," he began with his observations, "Ser Arthur Dayne, Jon Connington, and the Prince's squires, Richard Lonmouth and Myles Mooton."

It was the first name that stuck to Cersei while the others were listed. She knew of the famous knight and had been told of his strong friendship with the Crown Prince. It was that friendship that worried her since it gave the knight's sister, Ashara Dayne an advantage that Cersei didn't have.

"Ser Arthur," she said casually, "he has a sister here doesn't he?"

Jaime grinned, "subtle was never you, Cersei," he followed his joke with a gentle poke to her side.

"Jaime," she admonished with no heat, which only earned a chuckle out of her brother. She rolled her eyes. "You said you'd help," she reminded him.

"And I am," he pointed out, "but it doesn't mean I cannot have some fun at your expense," His grin intact.

He could tease her all he wanted if it got her closer to Rhaegar, so she let it stand, putting aside any mild annoyance that her brother seemed to provoke within her without effort. However, she hadn't expected a smile to leak through knowing it would only encourage him if he saw it, and to her misfortune he did.

"A smile from my sister," he sounded smug, "will this day of wonders cease?"

"Jaime," that had gotten her smile to disappear.

He only chuckled, "I know, sister, I know," he held up a hand. "I was going to say you do not have to worry about Lady Ashara actively pursuing the Crown Prince."

"What?" Cersei's eyes widened at once at this boon. "What do you mean?"

"The Dornish beauty has become smitten with another."

She couldn't believe this fortunate turn. By all aspects this Lady Ashara was to be Cersei's greatest rival in her task of getting a betrothal with the Crown Prince. Her brother's friendship with Rhaegar, her family's ties to the Targaryens, her supposed beauty, and now she was all but removed from the competition so quickly.

The gods favor me, she knew it. They want this union too. They see it as a blessing that will bring prosperity to all of Westeros. She wasn't a pious woman, but she couldn't deny the touch of the Divine in this move.

"Aren't you at all curious who the lucky fellow is?" Jaime's question broke through Cersei's elation, "To have won your rival's affection."

"Who is he?" She asked more for her brother's benefit then her own, but mayhaps, I'll toast to him later, she smiled, on my wedding day with my prince.

"Ned Stark."

\-----------------------------

Daeron:

"Shall we go again?" Daeron extended his hand to his fallen opponent, Eddard Stark, his friend took the offered hand with a grateful nod.

"Well struck, my prince," Ned complimented when he got back to his feet. "However, I'll have to decline."

"Of course," Daeron replied, grateful that his two new friends had agreed to spar with him these past few days to help prepare him for his duel.

"Seven Hells," Robert Baratheon was standing off to the side, arms crossed, "Aren't you tired?"

In truth he was tired, and sore, but that didn't matter. He was determined to beat Rhaegar to win Dark Sister for himself. If that meant some temporary discomfort in the meantime then he considered it a bargain.

"I can use one more bout," he ignored the ache in his arm, muscles protesting from the exertion he's put his body through not just this day, but the last several. He had extended his training from its already rigorous level to improve and ready himself for this fight, expecting it to be the toughest challenge he's yet faced.

"What do you say, Robert?" Daeron offered, "You're footwork could improve."

"My footwork?" Robert grumbled, "Give me my bloody hammer," he tossed his practice sword to the ground in disgust, "And I'll beat you soundly."

Ser Barristan Selmy cleared his throat from where he stood, an amused smile on his lips.

"My prince," Robert amended with a bow.

Daeron laughed, "I'll remember that." He had seen his friend's prowess with his newly forged warhammer, and was impressed with Robert's skill and strength to wield such a massive weapon. "Very well, I suppose I have no choice, but to call it a day with my practice." He handed his blunted sword to a waiting page, who took it with a bow.

"Bout bloody time," Robert mumbled, a hearty chuckle followed his teasing tone.

"Forgive me for wanting to be diligent with my training."

"You're forgiven," Robert waved his large hand as if swatting aside Daeron's apology.

"You spoil me, cousin." Daeron grinned, earning a laugh from Robert.

Whatever annoyance he felt at having to call it quits for his day's training was snuffed at his cousin's infectious laugh. Even though they were tied by blood, Daeron had rarely interacted with his cousin, the last time having been years ago. He was fortunate that mistake had been amended. He had stumbled into this newfound friendship with not just his cousin, but of Eddard Stark too, who like Robert was fostering in the Vale as wards of Lord Arryn.

When they had arrived to the capital to see off Robert's father and mother from their journey, it was Daeron's role to interact and show the two of them the castle, and the city. He later learned that the task to show Ned and Robert around had first been given to Rhaegar, but his older brother had declined and it fell on Daeron.

My brother's aloofness knows no bounds, he thought wryly, but in this instance, he was thankful for his brother's indifference and obsession with books and solitude. As it gave him the opportunity to get to know Eddard and Robert, where friendships were quickly struck between them as well as with Jaime. The four of them finding fun in training, hunting, riding, and exploring outside the city.

He would miss his two new friends when they went back with Lord Arryn to the Vale, knowing their exit from the capital was approaching. Their stay having already extended twice now on Robert's insistence and charm, but now a day had been set, and they were to leave only two days after Daeron's duel.

"This duel between you and your brother," Eddard observed delicately, solemn in his reflection. "It doesn't feel right."

Daeron wanted to sigh, but restrained himself knowing that his new friend had a different experience with his siblings than Daeron had with Rhaegar. It was difficult for him to understand of such dislike between brothers, and for that obviousness, he envied Eddard.

"Makes sense to me," Robert shrugged, "I wouldn't mind a bout between me and Stannis," the imagined fight was enough to make Robert grin, "Any chance to have some fun with my brother."

"Fun?" Daeron couldn't help but ask, unable to see what his friend meant.

"Of course," Robert was still grinning, "I'd have a blast hitting him with a blunted sword."

"Robert," Ned sighed, but his lips twitched at his friend's over the top antics.

That pleased Robert, slapping Eddard on the back, "There it is, Prince, a smile from the solemn Ned Stark! A rare sighting, I wouldn't expect it again unless he was in the company of a certain Dornish beauty."

"Robert," Ned's smile was swallowed up by a scowl.

Robert didn't seem bothered by his friend's change in mood, reacting as if he had expected it. "Easy, Ned," he held up his hands, "It was only a jape, meant no insult to you or her honor," he paused, "Besides," his voice dropped to a whisper, "just an encouraging suggestion," he winked.

"My Prince," Ser Barristan Selmy cut into the conversation, "If I may?"

"Of course," he nodded, falling in step with the knight while the playful banter between Eddard and Robert continued uninterrupted, walking ahead of them. "What is it, Ser Barristan?"

"Your training."

"My training?" Daeron frowned, "Did you spot a weakness in my form?" He asked, "A slip up that Rhaegar could exploit?"

"Your brother," the kingsguard knight said softly, "He's your brother."

"I'm well aware of that," Daeron replied tersely.

"You never address him as such when you speak of this duel."

"It is irrelevant," Daeron felt the annoyance churning in his gut, "He is my opponent. I will beat him." I must, keeping that part to himself, sensing it would only earn him further disapproval.

"Listen to you," He shook his head, "It sounds as if this sword means more to you than your own brother."

"Of course it does!" Daeron snapped unable to restrain the bubbling anger inside of him. The blunt truth in his statement stunned Barristan, disbelief covered his face.

"My Prince," he mumbled in dismay.

"Enough," Daeron held up his hand. He had let this conversation go on long enough. He looked ahead to see Robert and Eddard had stopped, and were looking back at them in confusion.

He despised the look that Ser Barristan was giving him. Of all people he should know it wasn't him who was responsible for this fractured relationship between himself and Rhaegar. It was maddening that the blame, the disappointment was being put on him.

It was Rhaegar, he wanted to scream, but he stopped himself.

"Thank you," he forced himself to smile, needing to remain composed as his frustration roiled beneath his chest. "I will think on what you said," he lied smoothly, pleased that the knight took it with a nod and returned the smile, his full of relief. "Now, if you excuse me, I wish to see my friends off to their chambers." He didn't wait for him to respond instead going ahead to meet up with Robert and Eddard.

\--------------------------

"Hold still."

Viserys giggled in response, disobeying as he did, padding across the floor and out of Daeron's reach. He stopped behind an ornate chair, poking his head around the side. "You can't catch a dragon!"

Daeron smiled at the display of energy and giddiness of his brother. "Oh?" Having no difficulty playing along, "Is that a challenge?"

Viserys bobbed his head up and down, a laugh followed, eyes shimmering with excitement as his feet tapped in place, ready to run away and to keep the game going all day if he could.

I needed this, he thought, savoring the levity that only his little brother could give him. A light hearted distraction that let him not have to worry about the many things on his mind and instead just allowed him to be an older brother.

"Dae." Viserys' voice broke him out of his thoughts, "you're not playing!" He pouted.

Daeron used that instant to move across the room, Viserys squealed in delight as he spun around and began to run away, avoiding being caught, peals of laughter echoing off the walls, as he padded across the floor. It was when he looked over his shoulder did he finally falter, stumbling and losing his balance, he threw out his hands, a worried cry escaped his lips, fearing he was going to fall.

He reached for his brother, fingers around his sides, grabbing him before he could tumble. "Got you," Daeron bragged, as he then tossed Viserys into the air much to the boy's delight.

"I'm flying!" Viserys cried out.

Daeron caught him, enjoying his brother's happiness.

"Just like a dragon!" Viserys sounded thrilled, "Again! Again!" He demanded petulantly.

"Viserys," Daeron didn't like that tone one bit. "That isn't how we ask for things."

His brother had the sense to look apologetic despite, "I'm sorry," he shrunk a bit, "Can you please, Dae?"

He had a hard time looking stern when his brother called him that. Viserys was too young and struggled to properly pronounce his name, and settled for calling him, 'Dae.' A nickname that Daeron hadn't liked at first, especially when Jaime heard him being called by it, but it was one he couldn't deny grew on him over the past few weeks solely due to his brother's charm and innocence.

Before he could respond to his brother's request, another voice entered their conversation.

"Daeron."

The voice of his older brother had a way of snuffing the warmth that Daeron had been feeling. His smile slipping from his face, as he slowly turned to the sound of his brother's voice, "Rhaegar."

"Come to play with us?" Viserys was oblivious to the chilly tension that had settled in the room between his two older brothers.

Daeron bit down the scoff that threatened to slip. He doesn't know better, he thought sadly, pitying his brother when he learned the same ugly truth that Daeron had discovered. Rhaegar only cared for Rhaegar.

"Not today, brother," Rhaegar answered Viserys not making an effort to make his tone gentle or assuring when dismissing their younger brother. "I need to speak with Daeron."

Viserys frowned. "We're not done playing!"

Daeron put a hand on his brother's shoulder to try to calm him, "It's alright, Viserys," he said soothingly, "We can play later."

"B-but," Viserys tried to argue.

"Enough, Viserys," Rhaegar chided, his indifference façade not cracking as their youngest brother looked on the verge of tears. "Your brothers need to speak."

Daeron felt anger stir in his gut at his brother's dismissal of Viserys, his fists clenched at his side. Before he could speak, Rhaegar continued.

"Ser Arthur will see you to your chambers," Rhaegar instructed, as his friend and kingsguard knight, Ser Arthur stepped forward, giving the younger prince an encouraging smile.

"Come, my prince," he held out his hand.

Viserys looked from the knight to Daeron, "D-do I-I have to?"

"Yes," he squeezed his shoulder, "I shall visit with you shortly."

That got Viserys to move, all be it slowly towards Ser Arthur's outstretched hand, hesitantly taking it as the knight rewarded the move with a friendly smile before leading him out of the chambers. Before the door closed, Viserys looked behind him, and Daeron sent him a reassuring smile before the door closed behind them.

"You coddle him." Rhaegar observed bluntly.

"You ignore him." Daeron snapped back.

Rhaegar sighed, "I have much on my mind, brother. I didn't come here to bicker."

"No, you came here for something," Daeron knew his brother well enough to understand his actions especially when it involved him.

"Yes," he admitted. "It is about our duel," He paced before the fireplace, "That sword is my birthright."

"That would be Blackfyre, my prince," Daeron said. "That belonged to the Heirs to the Iron Throne, not Dark Sister," he enjoyed seeing the slight slip of annoyance that Rhaegar showed before swallowing up to resume his stoic veneer.

"Regardless," Rhaegar cleared his throat, "Blackfyre is gone and Dark Sister is here. That sword may serve a purpose in future endeavors as will I."

Daeron scoffed, his brother's stubbornness in believing in these prophecies made him a fool. "You're scared."

"I am not." He declined sharply.

"That's why you're here." He felt the smile on his lips, relishing at seeing his brother's discomfort. "You're scared that I'll beat you." His brother frowned at his words, but offered no rebuke besides an irritated look.

"You want the sword, but you don't want to earn it."

Rhaegar ignored the accusation. "I don't want to fight you, brother."

"Brother?" Daeron laughed, "Is that what I am now to you?" He shook his head. "You can't just come here after ignoring me for years and call me brother and expect me to fall on my sword out of some family obligation."

"I am the Heir to the Iron Throne," Rhaegar said sternly.

"I'm going to show all of Court what I already know," Daeron confronted him, standing only inches apart from one another. "That their perfect prince isn't without his blemishes."


	9. Duel

278 AC

Cersei:

"You know this is a fight not a feast," Jaime observed through his typical smile in lieu of a greeting.

Cersei ignored her brother's jape. Taking her seat, across from him and was careful to not ruffle her beautiful dress. She had spent much of the night before and this very morning fretting over what dress to wear for the duel today. After numerous changes and choices, she finally settled for the one she was currently wearing.

A red backless dress which was sleeveless. It had black laces sewn through it to offset the red, subtle hinting of the Targaryen's colors and the future she'd soon have wearing them. With a plunging neckline, while her lion-head gold collar dangled between her bosom.

How could Rhaegar resist me now? She had thought exultingly when she studied herself in the mirror in this dress. She knew the style was more the Reach than either the Westerlands or the Crownlands, and something she typically did not wear. If she had to wear more dresses styled in this way to win her prince's affection then she'd do it without hesitation.

Why should I hinder myself by conforming to one style?

"Morning to you too," Jaime replied to himself, undeterred by her silence.

"Morning," she decided it was better to respond to him then continue to hear him prattling on in self amusement. Despite her brother's earnestness at helping her with Rhaegar, he still hadn't stopped being his typical self in her presence. That meant japes, stupid smiles, and other annoyances that she had to persevere through in order to get his help.

He raised his glass in her direction before taking a sip, and then went back to his meal.

Cersei looked down at the spread of food, choosing carefully as to not wanting to get any spills or crumbs on her dress. She settled with some toast and bacon, with some eggs, washing it down with iced milk.

"You look lovely, sister."

"Thank you, brother," she replied in kind, looking up to see the sincerity in his expression. There was no lust or stirring beneath those green eyes like she had seen and use to long for when they were younger. He's been blinded by his princess.

"How is your betrothed?" she asked knowing how he'd adored talking about his future wife. She cared little about her future good sister, but it was easier to ply him out of more useful information when he was happy and distracted which he always when his betrothed was brought up.

Jaime was eating his porridge, prompting him to look up at her question. His spoon in his mouth, a look of surprised covered his face, but that went away swiftly when his thoughts settled towards the princess, a glazed hue in his eyes followed. He put down his spoon, to show a wistful smile. "She is well," he answered, "I've held back on writing to her until after the duel," looking and sounding put out by this supposed sacrifice on his part. "She and Oberyn are very interested on who will win."

They probably long for the spare to win, Cersei knew how close the Dornish Prince and Princess had been with him during their time in Casterly Rock. She kept that disapproval from showing in her expression, instead returning her brother's smile with one of understanding. "I'm sure she's waiting eagerly for it."

"Yes, she is," he nodded, "She will probably write a congratulatory letter to the victor," he revealed proudly.

Cersei perked up at that. Not liking the idea of this princess writing to her Rhaegar and offering some form of deceived sincerity of congratulations when he predictably triumphs over his younger brother.

She can't worm her way between me and Rhaegar, Cersei crumpled the piece of toast she had in her hand, turning it into crumbs that rained own her plate. Looking down at her hands and the ruined mess of her toast.

"Jealous?" Jaime correctly guessed her mood.

"No," she wanted to snap, wiping her hands with a napkin.

"Good," Jaime didn't sound fooled, "I mean it's not like Elia's letter is going to Rhaegar."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Cersei demanded, annoyed at her brother's smug tone.

"I thought it was pretty simple," he rolled his eyes. "It means she's going to be writing to Daeron not Rhaegar," he said slowly as if she was some lackwit.

Cersei wasn't sure what frustrated her more-her brother's antics or what he was implying. She settled for the latter, responding with a derisive laugh, "You think he can beat the crown prince?" She shook her head, disappointed in her brother. It seemed his friendship with the spare had diluted his senses.

Jaime frowned, "You think too little of Prince Daeron." Beneath his green eyes she could see he was insulted by her jab at his friend. "Daeron has squired for Ser Barristan for years," He began, "He trains and works hard every day," he listed, "There is no better swordsman I've fought that doesn't wear the cloak of the kingsguard." The beginning traces of a sneer forming on his face, "It's you who are mistaken, sister. Prince Daeron will beat Rhaegar. I have no doubt about that." He finished with a look that resembled a parent correcting their child.

Cersei scowled, stewing in anger at her brother's chiding of her. At how he spoke to her like some foolish little girl. She refused to acknowledge his points.

He's jealous, she reasoned, firmly grabbing onto the idea, his jealousy blinds him against the Crown Prince. Feeling her anger cooling as she saw through Jaime's flaws. He's friends with the wrong prince, she continued, That stupid loyalty causes him to go against Rhaegar even when he knows who's the better fighter.

"I'm sorry, Cersei," Jaime's apology broke through her thoughts. "I know how much you," he paused as if to find the right word, "Care for Prince Rhaegar," he finished, sounding contrite. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"All is forgiven, brother," she smiled, waving off his apology. How could she be angry with him? She saw through his attempts at trying to protect his friend, the spare prince. It was pity she felt towards her brother not annoyance.

He looked surprised whether it was her smile or her reaction to his apology, she wasn't sure, but he looked relieved that she wasn't mad with him. "Good," he smiled, "Besides if he does lose," he said delicately, "At least he'll have you to comfort him."

\-------------

They arrived to a packed Great Hall. The room was buzzing as all of Court looked to be in attendance to witness this anticipated duel between the two princes. The cavernous hall almost felt cramped as she and her brother made their way through the throne room.

Remembering her mother's lessons, Cersei held her head high, chin lifted, her steps measured and dignified as she walked beside her brother. Feeling the eyes fall and linger on her as they cut through the rabble of the lower nobleman and towards where the dueling ring had been set up. Stands had been built and brought in forming a large circle and below that was a smaller circle, roped off where the fight would take place. The stands' two openings were on either side, one side the entrance for the nobles to gather and find their seats, the opposing side as to give the Iron Throne and the King who sat upon it a view of the duel.

To those who didn't have the luxury of being gifted seats, not wanting to fear missing such an event, so they settled on milling about in the shadows of the stands. Listening to the sounds and reactions of the spectators, while silently hoping to catch a glimpse of it as well as wanting to stay to shower praise on the victor or consolations to the loser.

Looking down on the proceedings were the skulls of the Targaryen dragons with the largest and most fearsome hanging closest to the Iron Throne. Now the empty eyes of these once proud and magnificent beasts watched their masters in silence.

"There you two are!" A booming voice greeted them.

Cersei looked away from the imposing dragon skulls to see the tall and muscular Robert Baratheon waving a large sized hand towards them as noblemen and women shrunk back as to avoid the towering stormlander who paid their annoyance and frosty glares no heed.

"Robert," Jaime led her over towards the Heir to Storm's End.

"Bout bloody time," he grumbled. He clapped Jaime on the back in greeting, a clap so forceful, Jaime's legs buckled.

Jaime recovered, still smiling, "I was blessed enough to have to wait and escort my sister," he gestured to her.

Robert turned to her for the first time. Standing straight, his large arms bulging, he bowed stiffly, more out of a lack of proper decorum then any sign of disrespect. His black hair, thick and messy, falling loosely over his temple. A bit of red seeped into his cheeks, making his handsome face look a bit flushed, and having heard stories about him through her brother, she knew wine was the cause of it.

"So this is Jaime's famed sister," he was grinning, his blue eyes shimmering. He elbowed Jaime. "You're a beauty, my lady."

Cersei rewarded his charm with a small smile, not missing how his eyes roamed over her partially exposed chest. She resisted the urge to shudder or to raise a hand to cover herself. If I have to endure a few lustful and lingering glances in this dress in order to win my prince's attention, then I do it gladly.

She held out her hand, knowing etiquette was to be observed, despite her initial thoughts on the man. Handsome he may be, she felt little in her chest at his sight, another pale imitation to try to rival her Rhaegar.

He took her hand in his much larger one and placed a surprisingly gentle kiss upon her knuckles. His eyes not leaving hers during the act.

"Enough, Robert," Jaime snorted, "My sister is clever enough to see through your charms," Jaime stressed the last word.

Robert barked out a laugh, holding up his hands, "My apologies," he joked, "Wouldn't want to offend your father," he winked at her before turning back to Jaime. "We got you seats." He put his hand on Jaime's back, "best seats around." He boasted.

Cersei was left to trail behind them, as Robert had turned his attention and infectious charm towards her brother, the two conversing and laughing as they went. She glanced around for any sight of her beloved prince and disappointment deflated her heart when she could not spot the silver haired Rhaegar.

"Here we are," Robert's voice dragged her attention away from the dueling circle to see their empty seats. Though made of wood, the seats were cushioned on both the bottom and the back. She was pleased at that, not wanting to feel stiff and uncomfortable while watching her prince triumph.

"Told ya, I'd find them, Ned," Robert greeted the two who were sitting next to the empty seats.

It was then that Cersei spotted the man who could only be Eddard Stark. The northerner dressed in dull greys and browns, he was shorter then Robert by more than a head. His long face and grey eyes set him apart from his handsome friend, but in the wrong ways, she thought. He seems more fitting as a mouse than a wolf, she wryly observed at the quiet, unassuming second son.

"Lady Cersei," he stepped forward when his eyes met hers, "It is an honor to meet you." He bowed his head, his form more practiced and refined then Robert's.

"You as well," she smiled towards him, "Jaime speaks highly of you." She added, knowing how men liked to be complimented, and was proven right by the sheepish look he gave in response.

Men can be so simple.

"As well he should," a female voice more than happily agreed.

Cersei should've noticed her first, but had been distracted by the Northman's drabby appearance. She didn't need an introduction to know of the woman who was standing beside Eddard. The name came to her at once-Ashara Dayne.

Much to Cersei's disappointment the rumors of her beauty were not unfounded. Begrudgingly seeing it with her tall and slender form, her long curly black hair, but her most striking feature were her violent eyes. An envious trait that was found mostly of those with valyrian blood and one that Cersei couldn't deny its beauty, having been enthralled by her beloved Rhaegar's eyes for so long.

The Dornish beauty was dressed in a violet, sleeveless dress, with a more conservative cut. Silver thread skillfully woven into the fabric to make the style look simple, but on Ashara it accentuated her beauty rather well, Cersei noted to her chagrin. Spotting a white sword crossing a fallen star silver pin that was placed upon the collar of her dress.

"Lady Ashara, I presume?" Cersei was all smiles to the woman who she thought was to be her biggest rival, only to learn that her eyes were set on a second son instead of the crown prince. Her poor judgment is my victory.

"You presume correctly." Her Dornish accent lilting her words in an effortless way that made her tone sultrier.

"Well met," Cersei greeted, seeing how Ashara's praise had turned Eddard's cheeks flushed. "I love your pin," she complimented.

Ashara smiled, one of her long fingers gently brushing up against the falling star part. "Thank you," she responded, "A gift from my brother, Arthur, from when I arrived here." She sounded happy when discussing her famous brother, "He wanted me to not forget where we come from."

They moved to sit down then. Cersei sitting down beside her brother, who sat on Robert's left while Eddard sat to Robert's right with Ashara taking the seat beside him.

"Sound advice," Eddard put in. The color having returned to his cheeks.

Ashara rewarded his response with a dazzling smile, before brushing her hands against one of his. "Indeed it is," aware of the affect her touch was having on him, "Though that doesn't mean I haven't eyed a different sigil for a new pin," she emphasized her meaning by tapping the grey sprinting direwolf that was sewn upon Eddard's tunic.

Robert laughed, a thunderous noise that drew the attention of several onlookers. "I'm not sure what will make him faint first, my lady," he joked, "This heat or you."

Ned sent his friend an annoyed look at the teasing, but Ashara put a hand on his arm, "Don't be angry, Ned," She comforted him, "Robert's simply jealous since the best look he's gotten while he's been here was from the roasted boar we supped on last night."

Cersei couldn't contain the laugh that slipped from her lips at that. Ned and Jaime's laughter joined hers and even Robert didn't seem bothered by it. His laughter easily drowning theirs out before shaking his head and wagging his finger at Lady Ashara.

"I'm bout to be a few dragons richer," Robert bragged, once their laughter subsided.

"You've been placing bets on the duel," Eddard observed in dismay, before a resigned look settled over his plain features as if he shouldn't have been.

"Of course," Robert happily declared, "Just supporting my friend," he defended, ignoring Eddard rolling his eyes or Jaime shaking his head, "Largest one came from Lonmouth."

"Rhaegar's squire?" Jaime guessed.

"Aye," Robert answered, "He seemed confident that the Crown Prince would win," he snorted, conveying his opinion on the matter.

Cersei ignored Robert's lack of respect towards the Crown Prince. She knew in current company they called the second son a friend. Like Jaime, they were all tied to loyalty not sense and would be proven the ere of that when her Rhaegar bested his younger brother in front of them.

After that, Cersei paid little attention to their conversation. Robert and his personality dominating it, but he was quick to be quiet when any of the other three spoke up. Cersei let them have their trivial talks as she looked around the stands, spotting familiar and unfamiliar faces having gathered, including the seats across from theirs on the other side of the dueling circle.

It was the Tyrell party. Dressed in green and gold, she recognized the heir of Highgarden in Mace Tyrell. A handsome enough man with curly brown hair, and a well-trimmed beard, the golden rose brooch upon his green doublet. He sat beside his silver haired wife, Lady Alerie formerly of House Hightower, who looked pretty and poised in her dress. Beside her, Cersei guessed to be Mace's sisters, Janna and Mina, both of which were presumed suitors for Rhaegar.

Janna dressed in a sleeveless green gown with gold trimming that would catch eyes before leading their attention downards towards her plunging neckline with gold bordering, showing off her ample breast and buxom form. Her dark hair pinned up to show her small neck, the pins in her hair were embedded with gold and emeralds.

Beside her sat the youngest Tyrell, Mina. Her dress much more conservative in cut and did little to accentuate her petite form. Her hair was done in a similar style as her sister but without the ornate pins and jewels. She looked bored at the events around her, and also a bit annoyed, and Cersei spotted the reason.

On the other side of Mina Tyrell, sat her mother, Lady Olenna Tyrell. Cersei had learned and heard much about the woman dubbed the Queen of Thorns. She hardly looks intimidating, Cersei thought, studying the old woman across from her who seemed to be whispering into Mina's ear, advice that her youngest didn't seem keen on hearing. She was short with greying hair, garbed in the green of House Tyrell, long sleeved and layered dress, a golden rose pin was nestled at her collar. Her eyes didn't rest, even as she talked to her daughter they moved about the hall, soon landing on Cersei.

Cersei's first instinct was to look away, as if embarrassed at being caught, but she ignored that notion. She met the inquisitive stare of the Tyrell matriarch. A lioness doesn't cower to a rose, she reminded herself, hoping to convey her confidence and power in her look. That's right, this is the face of your future Queen.

Her stare got her nothing other than an amused smile that slowly spread on Olenna's face. Murmuring from the crowd broke out drawing both their attention away and towards the dueling ring where a herald had emerged.

It was time to begin, her heart was racing.

Barely hearing what the herald was saying, bits of it that stuck told her that he was going over the rules of the duel. When he finished he then announced the Small Council, each lord earning a different volume of applause. When her father was announced as Hand, Cersei was proud to observe he earned the loudest ovation. Regardless, Tywin Lannister ignored the noise and took his seat at the Small Council table positioned beneath the Iron Throne.

Next the herald announced the king, Aerys the Second, who looked ghoulish. His white hair a tangled, matted mess that had grown long and untamed, falling over his eyes like a silvery curtain. His nails were yellow and long. She had heard rumors that the king forbade any of his servants to clip them since Duskendale. Even in his haggard appearance, he stood before the Iron Throne, soaking in the applause that was directed towards him, the loudest coming from Mace Tyrell and the members of the Reach.

It seemed lost on him that their reaction was out of fear not love. When it ended, he smiled, showing yellow teeth through a crusty silver beard before he made his ascent up the steps of the Iron Throne.

A baffling sight, she thought, at seeing such a man sitting on the imposing Iron Throne. He looked more fitting on the streets of the city then sitting on the most impressive seat in all of Westeros. An observation, she made quietly and dared not share even to her brother beside her. Aware of the wroth it could bring if it was brought to his ears. He was still their king.

When he was settled upon his throne, he waved for the herald to continued, who did so but not before bowing low in his direction. "I present to you, the challenger, Prince Daeron Targaryen." The herald's announcement brought with it a smattering of applause. The loudest coming from where she sat, as she ducked her heard in embarrassment at the raucous cheers that Robert bellowed down in show of support for his friend.

Entering the dueling circle, Daeron Targaryen, was dressed in gold and black plate armor. The three headed dragon etched on his breastplate, a shimmering golden silhouette.

"Those are the Young Dragon's colors," Jaime informed her, sounding proud at the selection his friend had made.

Cersei didn't find it in her to care who or why he chose said colors. She was more pleased that she'd be able to tell the difference between the spare and her prince when the fighting started.

Walking beside Daeron was Ser Gwayne Gaunt of the kingsguard, dressed in the pale enameled armor of his brotherhood. The knight carried Daeron's sword and helmet. The latter was carved to resemble a dragon's head, with the flap opening to signify the dragon's maw when roaring or billowing flames. Done in black, except for the dragon's eyes, where two golden pieces had been placed into the helm.

The Herald acknowledged the prince's presence with a bow, sharing a few whispered words which the prince took with a nod before stepping away. The Herald then cleared his throat, "The Prince of Dragonstone, Heir to the Iron Throne, Rhaegar Targaryen."

Cersei had jumped to her seat to applaud. The stands broke into a fury of noise and cheers with others coming to their feet to welcome him. Her heart was pounding into her chest while her eyes raked in the handsome crown prince who stepped into view. He was dressed in midnight black plate armor. His chest plate wrought with rubies that formed the three headed dragon of House Targaryen.

His beauty was beyond compare, she drank in the appearance of the man she would one day call husband. She ignored the looks of her brother and friends while she continued in her applause. However, she remained mindful to remain poised in her support, knowing she had her reputation and that of her family's to maintain.

Accompanying the crown prince was his friend and confidant, Ser Arthur Dayne, The Sword in the morning, his famous sword, Dawn sheathed and holstered on the knight's back. The Kingsguard knight carried the prince's sword and helmet, the latter being black with a three headed dragon crowned at the top.

The herald greeted the Crown prince just like with Daeron before, with a bow and a whispered exchange. When it broke, Rhaegar walked away and towards Ser Arthur who presented his prince with his sword and helmet. He took them graciously, before turning to face his brother who had been flicking his sword back and forth, practicing.

He seemed to sense his brother's stare since he stopped, and looked to meet Rhaegar's eyes. The two exchanged nothing. No words or gesture was made between them, they simply stared at the other in silence.

"My sons," Aerys announced.

The King's greeting was unplanned since the herald had looked ready to announce the beginning of the duel, but instead he stepped aside to defer to the king.

Daeron broke eye contact first, turning to face his father, where he was quick to fall to one knee. Rhaegar followed his brother's movement, kneeling from his side.

Aerys who stood above them, looked pleased upon seeing his two sons kneeling before him. "You fight for the honor to wield Dark Sister," he began, "May this bout of skill decide who is worthy to carry our family heirloom." He raised one of his hands, showing scabs and scars from where the Throne had pricked him. "Let this be a show of my affection towards my blood at such a gift." He finished in his ramblings, sitting down, where he was quick to fidget from the Iron Throne's embrace.

The Herald waited a few seconds of silence to make sure the king was done before signaling to Ser Barristan Selmy who stood just outside of the dueling circle and who would act as judge. While his brethren, Ser Jonothor Darry and the Lord Commander, Gerold Hightower stood at the base of the Iron Throne. Only two of the fabled knights were missing from the Great Hall, Ser Oswell Whent and the newest member of their brotherhood, Ser Alliser Thorne.

Cersei suspected they had drawn the unenviable task at protecting the Queen and the youngest prince, Viserys. They were both absent from the Great Hall. But Before she could wonder about their absence, the herald announced the duel would begin, and the queen and prince were abandoned as Cersei's eyes fell on Rhaegar, her heart and mind focused solely on him.

\---------------

Daeron:

"Begin!" The herald announced before scurrying out of the ring.

Daeron remained where he stood, looking to see his brother before him. His sword in hand, but his footing betrayed his intentions, he looked prepared to defend not attack.

"You stand before destiny, little brother," Rhaegar's voice was muffled by the helm, but it couldn't stifle his brother's melancholic tone. "I've seen the future and you are but a bump along my path to fulfill my destiny in saving the Seven Kingdoms."

Daeron ignored his brother's words. He didn't care about his talk of prophecies, he moved forward, sword raised, but his movement remained methodical. Daeron didn't rush himself or charge forward. He moved in slowly, a wary predator. His brother was taller and had the greater reach, so Daeron was careful with his steps. He initiated the duel when he was in range with a simple sword thrust which Rhaegar deflected. The clash of swords, brought a roar of approval from the crowd.

Undeterred, he continued, thrust and poking, looking for weaknesses in his brother's stance while watching his form. Rhaegar skillfully blocked each one, and acted inclined to stay on the defense, not looking or trying to offer any form of counter attack.

"Be thankful that this burden hasn't fallen on you," Rhaegar's tone held a touch of sadness to it, harrowingly echoing out from his helm.

Daeron wondered for just a second if the crowd could hear the exchange between brothers, before deciding they probably could not judging by the noise emanating from the stands.

"Am I suppose to forgive you?" He had no disposition to do so. His sword going low in a jab that Rhaegar deftly swatted aside.

"No," his brother answered, "Nor do I ask you to understand." That was when he changed his technique, relying on his reach, Rhaegar moved his sword in a swift cutting arc which brought a loud reaction from the audience-their support clear and deafening.

He ignored the noise, focusing on his brother's blade while chiding himself for letting him be lulled into Rhaegar's conversation. He met Rhaegar's blade, absorbing the strength from the blow. A discomforting strum went up his arm. Daeron then sidestepped to try to free their locked blades.

A move Rhaegar predicted since his sword came rushing to meet him, slicing downwards and Daeron dodged the blade the best he could. Hearing the air ripple from the blade which missed him by mere inches, earning gasps and groans from the audience.

Daeron recovered, watching Rhaegar coming back towards him, unleashing a series of cuts and thrusts that Daeron dodged and deflected. Each one his brother's blade, crept closer and closer towards him. He bit back a huff when the last one nearly scraped his armor, but then Rhaegar changed his position, stepping to his side and throwing up his elbow which connected to the side of Daeron's head.

Pain exploded from the spot, wincing and cursing. His head rattled beneath his helm. He stumbled, but kept his sword up, swinging it back and forth to wade off another attack from his brother while Daeron tried to regain his balance. His vision blurred. He tasted blood in his mouth.

"Prince?" Ser Barristan's voice could barely be heard over the excitement of the crowd, who chanted and cheered for their crown prince. "Do you yield?"

Daeron couldn't pinpoint Barristan's voice or where the knight was standing to the circle. "No," he lifted up his helm's visor, spitting out blood much to the delight of the crowd. "I can continue." He was thankful that this wasn't a fight to first blood.

His eyes on Rhaegar whose helm remained on, poised for another attack. He was also closer to Daeron then he realized, for as soon as he said, he'd fight, Rhaegar moved to cut the distance. Relying on his reach to keep Daeron off balance, so that he exploit Daeron's defenses, while being far enough back so as Daeron couldn't threaten him.

Daeron kept visor up, allowing him unobstructed view of his brother and his style. You've been learning from your friend, he realized, seeing techniques his brother was using that Daeron had watched Ser Arthur perform flawlessly in the training yard. Thankfully, he wasn't fighting the Sword in the Morning, but his brother.

Undeterred, by this setback, Daeron settled in his defensive stance. Deflecting and rarely absorbing his brother's hits, instead sending them to the left and right of him, avoiding taking any of the impact fully. He didn't want to overexert himself on the defense with Rhaegar trying to sap his energy with each flurry of attacks.

It was in blocking Rhaegar's latest effort that Daeron had decided he had given enough ground. Instead of deflecting this one, he planted his feet and embraced the attack full force. He ignored the discomfort that climbed up his arms, focused on their blades which were locked together. Until Daeron pushed Rhaegar's aside, and with a flick of his wrist, brought his sword towards Rhaegar's suddenly exposed front. He thrust forward, the blade slashing Rhaegar's chest plate.

The crowd voiced their displeasure at the turn of events in the form of shouts and curses. All of which were directed towards Daeron.

The crown prince stumbled backwards, sword flailing in his hand, but Daeron avoided the careless strikes. He moved his sword downwards in a brutal cut which hit Rhaegar's shoulder. The impact of sword against armor let out a loud thud and he could hear his brother's groan. Rhaegar's free arm sagged. He raised his sword towards Daeron to try to fend him off, as he backed away, his back going up against the ropes of the dueling ring.

"Rhaegar?" Barristan's voice rang above the restless noise of the crowd, "Do you yield?"

He answered with a mute shake of his head, and that was all Daeron needed to move forward. He swatted Rhaegar's sword away, his brother's strength was wilting. When their swords met, he changed the angle of his blade, grabbing the bare steel by his armored gloves and flipping it in one fluid motion where he then directed a thunderous pommel strike to the front of Rhaegar's helmet.

Rhaegar nearly fell over the roped rings from the strength behind the blow.

The crowd's buzzing grew louder like a swarm of angry insects as they watched their beloved prince getting bludgeoned by Daeron.

He didn't mind, he enjoyed it, savoring the sound of their discomfort and frustration as he went about showing their damaged perfect prince. He rushed towards Rhaegar ready to end this duel, but his brother regained his footing, and threw up his sword to deflect his charged strike. Daeron's sword bounced off Rhaegar's defense, and he took a step back, not wanting to be careless this close to victory.

I will not have this triumph taken from me, taking a breath, sword poised. His heart thundered against his ribs, a war drum beneath his chest plate.

Rhaegar seized the brief respite to remove his helmet to the gasps of his adorning subjects to reveal his face was a bloody mess. His nose was broken with blood pouring out from the wound.

Daeron smirked.

"MY prince?" Barristan sounded dismayed at seeing the heir in such a state, "Do you yield?"

Rhaegar answered by tossing his helmet aside. His face marred in anger, blood smeared across his mouth and chin. His indifference crumbling beneath a snarl that would've made the dragon skulls above them proud, he lashed out with his sword.

Daeron met his brother's rage. Their blades clashed, their faces inches apart. His breathing was labored, and he could hear Rhaegar's heavy breaths as well as the wheezing coming from his broken nose.

While Rhaegar had unleashed his rage, Daeron kept his contained,. Feeding it slowly, the anger stirred in his chest like a hungry chained beast. Funneling through his body, relieving his tired muscles, subsiding the discomfort and pain that had been seeping through.

His strength buoyed as the battle song coursed through his blood. Daeron's rage, his fire was stoked and carefully preserved, controlled so that he could use it.

Draw on it, but never drown in it.

This was the Blood of the Dragon. The rage of their ancestors that brought them glory and triumphs as they conquered Westeros. A fury that swept across the kingdoms only sated by Fire and Blood. Their opponents fell one by one to the wrath of the dragon.

This was the blood of Aegon the Conqueror, the Young Dragon, Aemon Dragonknight, some of the greatest warriors Westeros had ever seen.

This is my blood too.

Rhaegar had let his rage consume him, a costly folly, that Daeron would exploit.

Their attacks brought them within inches from each other, only steel separating the fighting dragons. "You thought destiny was a shield, brother," Daeron growled, low and menacing. The dragon stirred within him, chained, but angry. "It's nothing more than a blindfold!"

He loosened his posture, his sword dropping as the shift in stance and lack of resistance led Rhaegar to stumble forward. His sword flailing like a damaged wing, but Daeron deftly avoided it. Bringing his pommel up and delivering a brutal strike on the back of his brother's head to the disappointment of the crowd, save for a loud cheer which he knew came from his cousin.

The blow sent Rhaegar reeling, falling to the ground face first in an armored heap, body sprawled out, sword out of reach.

Daeron stalked him, wary of any sign of deception, feeding off the rage that burned within. When he was close, he kicked aside Rhaegar's sword. He then stepped on Rhaegar's arm, pinning it the ground, and pressed his sword to the back of Rhaegar's exposed neck.

Barristan rushed over to their side of the dueling ring, "Rhaegar?" His voice wrought with worry. "Do you yield?"

Daeron pressed his blunted blade harder onto the neck of his brother. Applying more and more force in hopes of making sure Rhaegar didn't have any foolish notion to continue this fight.

"I yield." He conceded, face in the ground.

The crowd let out a collective gasp, groans followed.

Daeron removed his sword from his brother's neck, and stepped away from the bleeding and injured Rhaegar. Pycelle had hobbled down from the Small Council table to check on the Crown Prince. He was quickly assisted by some of his acolytes. They brought bandages to try to sop up the blood as the Grand Maester assured him he could fix the injury.

Relishing the rush of victory, Daeron removed his helm, welcoming the air that greeted him with such a sweet caress.

"My prince."

He turned to see his sworn shield, Ser Gaunt standing before him. His face impassive, but he handed Daeron a towel which he took gratefully. He used it to wipe away the layer of sweat that had coated his face.

"You fought well, my prince."

"Thank you, Ser Gwayne," His heartbeat was beginning to settle as the dragon calmed in its lair. Its strength weaning while the soreness and exhaustion began to creep back into his bones and muscles.

"What a fight!" Robert made his way down from the stands, cutting a path through the audience which remained in a state of dismay upon viewing their perfect prince get bested.

The thought of their disappointment made his victory all the sweeter, Daeron smiled. "Cousin," he greeted his friend, clapping him on the shoulder.

"You won me good coin!" Robert bragged.

"I'm glad my good fortune turned into your good fortune," Daeron joked.

"Well fought!" Jaime was next to offer his congratulations, "I noticed that counter you used against him," he was smiling. "You can thank me for teaching you that."

Daeron laughed, shaking his head.

"Congratulations, my prince," Eddard's was more tempered then Robert and Jaime's, but just as sincere.

"Thank you," Daeron smiled, knowing the action revealed blood stained teeth.

His friends' conversation was cut off as clapping echoed across the Great Hall. A single smattering of sound that brought everyone's attention to the Iron Throne where his father was sitting.

"My son, you have earned your victory."

Daeron stepped forward, noticing his brother was still being treated by Maester Pycelle. A cloth applied to his broken nose while Pycelle was applying a salve to the area around the wound. A gaggle of his friends and squires hovered nervously around their crown prince. He saw the glare that Jon Connington sent his way, and Daeron responded with his red smile.

When he was at the edge of the dueling circle, he knelt, lowering his head. "Thank you, my king."

"Well?" Aerys stood from his seat, eyes roaming the stands of nobility. "What do you have to say for my son's victory? Your prince?" His prodding brought with it a hesitant reaction from the crowd as they clapped halfheartedly with their congratulations.

"You showed the might of the dragon today, my son!" Aerys sounded giddy. He carefully climbed down the steps. "Come forward, child," he beckoned him closer when he reached the dais of his throne.

Daeron stood from his kneeling position, climbing out of the ring and up the steps to where his father was waiting for him, and beside him there was a servant holding onto a red velvet cushion where Dark Sister rested.

"The sword of Aemon the Dragonknight has found a worthy heir."

"You honor me, Your Grace," Daeron ducked his head to his father while shooting a glance to the famous family sword that he had just earned.

"Yes, I do," Aerys agreed happily, "I am a good king!" He proclaimed, His eyes darting around the room, his mouth pursed in a suspicious frown, as if expecting dissidents to speak up and challenge his claim. "So witness my generosity," he raised his arms to draw attention from the crowd. "Take it, my son."

Daeron reached for the sheathed valyrian longsword, his fingers carefully wrapping around the pommel before he lifted it from the pillow.

"Your winner!" Aerys the Second declared, putting his hand on Daeron's shoulder where they were met with applause from a frazzled audience.

Daeron stood awkwardly not wanting the attention of these strangers. It was the sword he had valued not the adoration of the fickle court. Regardless, he knew what was expected him, and stood quietly beside his father, looking down towards everyone who stood below them. His friends' were the loudest and sincerest in their support.

"Remember this, my son," His father's soft voice brushed against his ear, "My gift to you, Dark Sister."

"Use it to protect your king against his enemies," His father tightened his grip on Daeron's shoulder. "From both outside our family." His father's attention flickered towards the injured Rhaegar, "And from within."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there we have it. Maybe I should apologize first off as I know expectations to this duel were high and growing and I still struggle writing fight scenes. So if I failed to deliver then you have my apologies.
> 
> I hope no one minds by creative liberties when describing the 'Dragon's Rage.' I thought it'd be a fun, neat concept to explore since we know and it seems hinted at that the Targaryen's are different with their valyrian blood.
> 
> Thanks for all the support you give this story. It really means a lot to me to receive your feedback. So please don't hesitate to hit that review button. They are delightful treats for the muse, who is never sated.
> 
> Until next time,
> 
> -Spectre4hire


	10. Duality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to extend my appreciation to Nicolai161, Persephone_Lancaster, PointGiven, Armansky1, Golden_Daughter, FierceKat, that_emo_kid_in_the_corner, and ESO4 for taking the time to leave a comment. It means a lot to me to read your feedback. So thank you.

278 AC

Daeron:

The Godswood was quiet when Daeron stepped out into it, dim torches lined the various pathways that cut through the wood. He closed his eyes, appreciating the gentle tussle of the wind against his face. The cold brisk air was a welcome change to the stuffy and smoky ambiance of the celebrating he had excused himself from. He and his friends drinking to his victory over Rhaegar.

His fingers brushing against the sheathed sword that he had won in his duel hours ago. The famous sword of his ancestors, Dark Sister. He had admired the valyrian blade countless times since he had claimed it, showing it to his friends and new supporters of his that have sprung up since his victory.

His mouth twisted at those vermin. Their attempts at worming into his good graces were not lost on him. As if he'd forgotten their behavior in the past, and was foolish enough in thinking they wouldn't turn on him the second it was convenient for them. The Court could hang as far as Daeron was concerned.

"Oh."

Daeron looked ahead of the path he was walking to see a young woman was approaching him.

"My Prince," she recovered, curtseying.

He recognized her to be Mina Tyrell, Mace Tyrell's youngest sister. "My lady," he greeted, "I apologize for startling you."

"It's quite alright," she waved off his apology. "I took the risk by venturing into this wood at night," she explained. "I should've prepared myself in the chance I came face to face with a dragon."

Daeron found himself smiling at the young woman in front of him. "You are brave," he complimented. His eyes taking in her slender form, her green dress done in a conservative cut, she had big blue eyes, honey brown hair that had been done in a braid, but strands of it had slipped through, framing her lovely face. "And beautiful," he found himself adding.

She smiled, "I'm sure you tell that to all the women you meet in the moonlight."

He had difficulty looking away from her eyes, sapphire pools that in the moment shimmered with a mischievous glint. "I didn't mean to interrupt your stroll," he took a step to the side, allowing her to pass, while secretly hoping that this conversation wouldn't come to a sudden end.

"I'll admit I came out here to escape my mother," she confessed, "but I wouldn't protest your company."

Silently pleased, he offered her his arm, "Allow me," her small hands were tucked against him. They then set out on their leisurely pace through the Godswood. "Your mother is a very formidable woman." Daeron knew the stories of the Queen of Thorns. He had rarely found himself in her company, but had heard the lash of her tongue, and the barb in her words.

"So am I," she squeezed his arm, before letting out a laugh which sounded like music to his ears.

He chuckled, "I'll remember that."

"Allow me to offer my congratulations on you victory," she spoke up, after they had walked a few steps in silence. "I cannot say what I enjoyed more, your thrashing of the Crown Prince or the looks of my brother and sister once you were finished," she giggled. "I thought my sister was going to faint."

Daeron didn't reply right away. His mind dwelling on her reveal of wanting him to beat his brother.

Unaware of his internal debate, she continued in her story, "My brother swallowed his tongue in that defeat. The first silence I've ever experienced in his company. So you have my thanks."

He found it difficult to keep from smiling at her alluring charm. However, the distraction of his thoughts was enough to keep his mood somber despite the infectious mirthfulness coming from her tone and expression.

"That is surprising news," He picked his words carefully, "Since I thought it was only in my small circle of friends that would be the ones happy with the outcome of my victory." He watched her carefully, when he added, "However, in the hours that followed, I've found quite a new group of friends emerging from the woodwork."

Mina snorted, catching him off-guard, "And you suspect I'm one of them?" She sounded more amused then insulted.

"The thought crossed my mind."

"I'll be honest with you, my prince," she said candidly. "My family have had their eyes set on Rhaegar for years," her eyes darkening, "They chase a dragon, a way to put a Tyrell as close as they can to the Iron Throne."

"You're proving my point."

"Am I?" she challenged, "They want Rhaegar, not you." She said bluntly, a softness touched her face at the admission, she squeezed his arm. "They will not even consider you until Rhaegar is married with a wife who's already given him a handful of sons." Her voice betraying her thoughts on her family's scheming, "A man I'm not deemed worthy of," she let out a bitter laugh, "No not as a second daughter, no Targaryen Princes for me. I'll be given to a bannermen to strengthen our family's alliances," her admission, brought an eerie resignation to her tone. An acceptance to her fate.

"A role I'll play for my family, but that's for the future," she slipped her hands from his arm, and moved to take his hands in hers. "This night, this moment," she looked into his eyes, "that's mine."

His eyes flickered between her enthralling blue eyes and her lips which he yearned to kiss. He found his mouth dry, a slight haziness in his mind that he knew was from the celebratory wine. He wanted to believe her. Her tone was so sincere. Her words capturted a sentiment he understood only too well, but still he hesitated on the precipice.

Daeron knew how this game was played. How his family was viewed. His hesitation kept his heart from plummeting while praying his wariness was misplaced, because in that moment all he wanted to do was to feel her lips on his.

"And this?" He raised her small and delicate hands.

The corner of her lips curved, which only seemed to enhance her beauty. "Let my brother and mother fret over the Crown Prince," her azure eyes were warm and inviting. "Let them throw my sister at his feet, if it means I can have you all to myself."

Daeron felt something stir within. Relief welled in his heart like a mountain spring.

"My Prince?" A voice called out in the darkness, puncturing the moment between them.

A look of disappointment flashed across Mina's face, but her smile returned, smooth and confident as she leaned on her tiptoes. "What if I were to come to your chambers tonight?" Her lips brushing against his cheek, "Would you find me a welcoming sight?

"I would," his voice sounded strange to his ears, like a low rumble.

She shivered at the sound, red crept into her suddenly flushed cheeks. "Until tonight, my prince," she ducked her head, smirking as she did. That glint lingering beneath her eyes that Daeron found beguiling, like a lit beacon to weary sailors.

He watched her slip into the darkness of the night, standing alone his thoughts and feelings lingering on the youngest Tyrell.

"My prince," Ser Gaunt emerged from the shadows, out of breath, but that didn't stop him from giving Daeron an irritated look.

"Ser Gwayne, my apologies." Daeron had promised the knight to not wander off and in return he'd allow Daeron some privacy. "I got distracted," he admitted, looking over his shoulder to where Lady Mina had slipped away, only moments ago, her scent lingered in the air- an enticing floral scent.

"Evidently," the knight replied dryly. He looked him over, a suspicious look in his eyes, but he voiced none of it out loud. "Allow me to escort you back, My Prince."

"Very well," Daeron acquiesced.

"Your cousin, Lord Robert has quite the voice and a talent at remembering bawdy songs."

They started back towards the Keep.

Daeron resisted the urge to look backwards not wanting to confirm any of the knight's suspicions. So instead he looked forward to tonight, remembering the words spoken to him, and of the promises to come.

\----------------------

It was nearly an hour later before Daeron found himself walking alone towards his chambers. His encounter with Mina had left him distracted. He hadn't been able to focus with his friends, barely listening or paying mind to what it was they were saying. Thankfully, they seemed oblivious to it, and when he excused himself, citing weariness after his fight. They were understanding, bidding him a good night, and a final congratulations on his triumph before he left them.

Here he walked after having beaten his brother, claimed Dark Sister, but it was Lady Mina Tyrell that had rooted herself at the center of his consciousness. Her beauty and her charm, her boldness and her bluntness forming an unexpected distraction. The fight felt like a distant memory to him, now that his thoughts and desires were focused entirely on the young Tyrell maiden.

Upon reaching his doors, he wondered how to discreetly let the guards know to expect Mina, as well as insuring that her visit went unreported. Pushing the doors opened, his thoughts on alerting his guards were forgotten when he spotted the very guest he was expecting having already made herself comfortable within his chambers. Lounging on the couch by his fireplace, the orange glow of the burning embers casting her form in an enchanting light.

A form he couldn't help but admire.

She stirred upon hearing him enter, raising her head. She had removed her pins and braids, allowing her honey brown hair to fall in loose lazy curls past her shoulders. Her lips were the first to react to his sight, forming a smirk that was confident and inviting. "My Prince," she inclined her head in his direction, "I've been expecting you." She gracefully sat up.

"I wasn't expecting this," he gestured to her presence upon his couch, "But one that I'm very grateful at seeing."

"You're smoother with your sword, my prince," she teased. "I invited myself in," she shrugged, elegant in the movement as it drew his attention to the silk nightshift she was wearing. A thin, transparent fabric that hid nothing from his hungry gaze.

"No easy feat," She noticed his eyes on her, sitting up straighter to allow him a better view of her pale breasts.

"You're full of surprises, my lady."

"You have no idea, my prince," she replied impishly, emphasizing his title in a tone that sent a shiver of pleasure strumming through him. She suddenly stood, but remained graceful in her movement, turning her back to him. She walked over towards the table, a seductive sway in her steps. "I brought you some Arbor Gold."

"You are too kind," He moved over towards her, watching as she poured the golden liquid into two glasses. He nodded his thanks at the offered glass. He felt his doubt bubbling up, so he quickly drank the wine. Wanting to douse his misgivings before they could distract him further. He finished the delicious wine in three sips.

"Allow me," he offered, when he noticed her glass was empty. He poured them their second glass in silence.

"Do you find me homely, my prince?"

Daeron coughed up some of his Arbor Gold at her unexpected question, "My lady?" His face burned in embarrassment at his gaffe. He quickly wiped his mouth with the back of his arm. "I-I do not." He assured her. He hesitated to look in her direction, but after warring silently with indecision and nerves, he looked towards her. He found himself emboldened by her beauty, and no doubt, the wine, when he clarified.

"I find you stunning, my lady."

"So stunning that you must keep your distance," the challenge in her tone was clear, but softened by the look in her eyes. She looked so fragile, vulnerable.

"I am cautious," he decided she deserved honesty after all she had told him earlier about her family and her future.

"I see," a touch of pain in her voice. She took a long sip from her glass. "I assure you, my prince, I come here to you out of desire of nothing more than the feeling of two lovers embracing," she put down her now empty glass. "Marrying you would please my family," she admitted, "But fucking you would please me." Her eyes luminous in the candlelight, lust shimmering beneath the sapphire pools.

Satisfied with her answer, Daeron moved towards her. He was tired of the doubting. He let his concern be numbed by wine and lust. Letting his desire drown his caution, because here and now, he wanted this, he wanted her.

"Very well," he smiled, "I'll indulge you."

\-----------------------------------

It was her stirring that pulled him out of his slumber. Haziness greeted him, he blinked it away only to see darkness surround him. He reached out his hand, his fingertips finding the soft, warm skin of Mina's body beside his. "What time is it?" He yawned.

"The hour is late," she answered, "However, morning is still far enough away that the skies remain dark, and the castle asleep."

His eyes were adjusting to the dim light to see her lying beside him. Her blanket abandoned, he drank in the sight of her breasts, the steady rise and fall of her chest. He reacted to her beauty.

Since their bodies were still partly intertwined, it allowed her to feel his appreciation. She smiled, "You'd draw your sword on an innocent maiden?" Her impish tone only solidifying his growing lust.

"You're hardly an innocent maiden," Their night of passion confirmed his suspicion that she was no blushing virgin.

She laughed, "I cannot deny that," she didn't sound ashamed at the admission. "You were not my first," her fingers went through his hair, "But you were my first prince."

He met her lips with his, savoring the soft sweetness of them. The moan that escaped her mouth, only fueled his desire, but she pulled away after a few heartbeats of passion.

"Hmm," she purred, smiling as she did, her eyes lingering on his lips. A look of conflict flickering across her face, shadowing her beauty before a look of disappointment settled, a resigned sigh followed. "I must leave," she slipped out of bed before he had a chance to try to stop her.

"I have an explanation in place," She padded across the floor, "But I shouldn't risk it," She picked up her discarded shift from where Daeron had peeled it out of her.

The memories of their passion coming back to him. He smiled upon reflecting of their time together. It had been a very good night.

"Despite the temptations to stay," She sent him a playful look over her shoulder, slipping into her shift. "I can come again if you like?" The offer hung in the air between them. Her tone was casual, but there was a flickering hue of hope beneath her cobalt eyes.

"I wouldn't be opposed to it," Daeron joked, earning him a glare, but he saw the relief flicker across her face no matter how brief. He pushed the blankets off of him, and got up to meet her. "I'd be a poor host if I let you leave without so much as a goodbye," He leaned down, capturing her lips in a brief, but tantalizing kiss. "Until our next meeting," He was pleased at the dazed look in her eyes. "I pray that it isn't too much of a wait."

Her glazed look slipped away at his last words. Her confidence returning in her familiar smirk. "I'm not the Maiden, herself," she teased, "But I'll see what I can do about your prayer."

Daeron chuckled, resisting the urge to kiss her once more. He stayed that desire instead having to settle for watching her put on her rough spun cloak and hood, disguising her into looking like one of the many servants within the Red Keep.

An ingenious disguise, he thought, impressed with her planning. Since even if she was noticed, they'd think he was sleeping with a maid. A notion that wouldn't have anyone batting an eye.

She looked back at him, before she slipped away out of sight.

He stayed there, standing and staring at the closed door wearing nothing but a dazed smile.

\----------------------------------

Cersei:

He needs me.

She hadn't been able to sleep.

How could she rest while her prince was in pain?

To make matters worse she had to endure the celebrations of her brother and his friends as they gloated over the spare prince's victory over the Crown Prince. Had they no wits? They insulted the heir to the Iron throne with their jubilee.

She lay awake all night fretting over her Rhaegar. Unable to push away the horrible memories of watching him get bested by that brute of a brother. Who in his jealous rage had marred Rhaegar's face with a savage blow.

He couldn't take his brother's crown so he settled for taking his beauty, she thought bitterly, and his sword.

She wouldn't forget the blood that gushed from the break, or the odd angle Rhaegar's nose was in. It made her stomach clench, but she ignored that discomfort, knowing she couldn't let it affect her feelings for her prince.

So here she was an hour or so past dawn, making her way through the Red Keep. Determined to see Rhaegar, to comfort him, to nurse him, whatever she could do to help her prince, she'd do. Her heart fluttered at her willingness and her imagination, conjuring images of a grateful Rhaegar showing his appreciation for her.

Cersei felt the heat creep in her cheeks, her pulse quickening, and her lips parted to let out a pleasurable sigh, but the dream soon ebbed away, from the sound of approaching footfalls and voices. Putting aside distractions and temptations, Cersei continued on her way to the royal apartments, where her prince was waiting for her.

I can make him better, Cersei had looked over herself more than a handful of times before she had set out. Confidence brimming in her heart, knowing he'd finally see her, the woman she could be for him. His friend, his ally, his wife, the last words pulling her lips into a smile.

His Queen, she continued, his staunchest supporter.

All she needed was the courage to seize this moment. A lion didn't hide and wait for its prey to come to them. They hunted, they sought what they wanted and they took it.

I am no different, she felt the tingling of anticipation beneath her skin. The flutter of her heart like a bird in a cage, as she neared with each step. The first lion to subdue a dragon, she thought proudly, and a lioness no less.

A little more patience my love, she prayed for her prince, I will be with you shortly.

She was so close, her legs were beginning to tremble in anticipation, her hands fidgeting at her sides. She steadied her steps, and put her hands together. Cersei knew her family was counting on her. Thinking of how pleased her father would be within a few hours when she told him that she had snared Rhaegar with her beauty and her charm.

"My lady?" The voice of the Targaryen guards brought her out of her reverie.

She recovered smoothly with a smile she perfected in her years at the Rock on servants and guards alike who asked her too many questions. To her satisfaction, it worked on the two in front of her just as easily.

Men, she chided, predictable and pathetic.

"Oh yes?" She blinked at them, fluttering her eyelashes, and pouting her lips. "Oh please forgive me," she put a hand to her chest. "You startled me," she let out a giggle that made her want to cringe, but the role was needed if she was going to succeed.

"That wasn't our intention," the guard on the right quickly said, "Our apologies, my lady," he bowed his head. The other guard quickly followed and chorused his sentiments.

"The King has such stalwart men protecting him," she praised, smiling sweetly at them, "I have an invitation to give," She added, "From my father," knowing the weight those two words carried not just in this city, but throughout the Seven Kingdoms.

The guards reacted accordingly, "Go through, my lady," standing aside to let her pass.

"Thank you, kind sers," She walked passed them without another look, ignoring their replies as it no longer mattered to her to hear what it was they were saying.

He waits for me, she felt as if she was gliding across the floor when the prince's room came into view. A kingsguard knight was standing outside of it, he blinked owlishly at her, "My lady?"

It took her a second to put a name to this dark haired, dark eyed knight, Ser Alliser Thorne. The newest sworn brother and the one Aerys picked not her father. "Morning, Ser Alliser," She greeted, smiling before slipping into a perfect curtsey. "I have a message for the Crown Prince."

Ser Alliser's face was stone as his dark eyes took her in without reaction. His lips finally moved, forming a frown, "The Prince asked not to be disturbed."

Cersei refused to show her anger to this lowly knight who was promoted above his station. I will not let you stand between me and my destiny. She wanted to roar back at him, but she didn't, knowing her tools were of a different kind than a man's. So instead she smiled back at him, not allowing him to see his words had an effect on her.

"Mayhaps, you should tell him about this visitor," she suggested sweetly. She was no servant or lowly member of Court, but the daughter of the Hand to the King, a Lannister of Casterly Rock, and the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

He looked ready to argue, but sense seemed to finally come to him, he sighed. "Very well," sounding annoyed, he showed her his back as his armored knuckles rapped across the wood of the door. He then opened it, and disappeared from view.

Just behind those doors, he waits for me. She was giddy, self consciously she ran a hand through her hair to make sure she stilled looked her very best. She glanced at her dress, noticing no stains or wrinkles as well checking her neckline where it cut low so that Rhaegar would be able to see her beauty for himself.

One look at me, will stir the dragon, she thought confidently.

"He will see you," the knight's sharp voice pierced her thoughts.

She blinked, "Thank you," she walked past him and into the prince's chambers.

Ones that I'll become quite familiar with, she thought wickedly.

Then her eyes found him. He was standing at his table, where numerous tomes and parchments were spread out. Her heart quivered at the tall, silver haired prince before her. With his indigo eyes, and despite the bandage that was over his nose, this was a face sculpted to display perfect beauty.

"Lady Cersei," Rhaegar's melodic voice was entrancing.

"My Prince," She replied breathlessly, curtseying after her greeting. "I pray I'm not interrupting something."

"You are considerate," he replied, his soothing voice was hypnotic to her ears, "but it can wait."

For me? She nearly slipped out, but restrained herself. "Is it anything I can help with?" She asked hopefully.

A frown settled on his lips, but even it couldn't shadow his handsomeness, "No, you cannot," he said tightly.

"Forgive me," she replied hastily, fearing she had let her curiosity ruin her. Before she could further her apology, he held up his hand to silence her.

"Ser Alliser said you had a message or me?" He asked, a touch of irritation smattered his tone. "Is it from your father?"

It's now or never, she realized, plucking up her courage, she went in for the kill. "It's me," she declared.

"Pardon?" He blinked.

"I'm the message," She explained, "I-I needed a way to speak to you and get past your guards," her words were fumbling together as she found herself pinned by his gaze. "I came here for you," She revealed, "To help you, to comfort you," she listed, "To do anything I can for you." She offered, finishing her rushed spiel with her best smile while also trying to emphasize herself to get her meaning across.

"I see," His voice was chilly.

"You're not upset with me are you?"

He ignored her. "Ser Alliser?"

"My Prince?" She felt her heart plummet at the stony silence her words fell into.

"Yes, my prince?" Ser Alliser was inside the room.

"Kindly escort Lady Cersei out of my chambers," he instructed, "As well as out of these apartments." He moved to sit back down, "See to it this time I am not interrupted again."

"Yes, my prince," Ser Alliser bowed his head to Rhaegar, but the Crown Prince had already dismissed them, his eyes going over one of his tomes.

The Kingsguard knight scowled at her before addressing her, "Come with me, my lady."

Cersei stood there, mouth agape, blinking, trying to understand what had happened. Let this be a dream, no a nightmare, she prayed. It wasn't to be like this, she didn't understand.

"My Lady," Alliser's grip on her arm was tight, but it didn't hurt.

"My Prince," she ignored the knight, "My Prince, my prince," she pleaded, feeling the knight pulling her away from. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" she felt tears blur her vision as she waved her arms frantically trying to stop the knight from removing her from Rhaegar's chambers.

Cersei called and she cried, but Rhaegar didn't stir from his seat.

"My prince, please," Tears ran down her cheeks, feeling her dreams beginning to crumble all around her, "I can help you!"

He did nothing.

Too soon, she was out the door, an annoyed Ser Alliser closing it behind her. Cersei's last glimpse of her prince, was of his nose in a book. He had never looked up.

"Go along, girl," Alliser's sharp voice cracked like a whip.

She flinched at the harsh sound of it. Snapping out of her daze, she lightly put a finger against her cheek, brushing a tear in the stroke. Looking down at it in dismay, she could hear the angry voice of her father, berating her, for her tears, for her failure, for disappointing him.

So she ran.

\------------------------------

What have I done?

Fear and shame seemed to be taking turns at gnawing on her insides, while she wandered cluelessly within the castle.

Reflecting on the fool she had made of herself and in front of him, her prince, the man who was to be her husband.

I ruined everything! She had failed, she had promised her father that she would see this through, and within a week of her arrival at court, she all but sunk her chances at being Rhaegar's wife.

No, no, she pushed it way, not wanting the realization to stick.

A setback, the voice assured her. It was the soothing voice of her mother that put aside her doubts and fears. You are my daughter, a lioness of the Rock. You will go out with a roar not a whimper.

I need her now, she thought glumly. She'd know what to do. Mother always had a way of making her feel better.

Then it came to her-a letter. Cersei could write him a letter.

Apologizing profusely for my behavior, she perked at the idea. I'll tell him the truth, adding, it was due to being so distraught over his loss, with my inability to sleep over my concern for him. The more she thought about it, the clearer the letter formed in her mind. Knowing this was her chance, she gathered herself, assessed her bearings before she picked the direction she thought would lead her quickly back to the Tower of the Hand.

Cersei could feel the slow trickle of hope pouring into her broken heart, fixing it as it went.

I will show him my strength, rebuilding her confidence as she moved. Prove to him that a lioness will not cower to a dragon. She was determined to see this through. One bad encounter cannot ruin our future, she wouldn't accept that possibility. She caught her prince at a bad time. Her letter would find him in a better mood, and when it did, she knew he'd respond, he'd see her strength, and he'd seek her out.

Yes, the last lingering traces of sadness melting away like morning dew beneath the sun. She walked with purpose, with pride. She had run like a wounded animal then, but now she moved like the determined predator that she really was.

The sound of footsteps caused her to look up just in time to see King Aerys, and two of his knights trailing behind him. He looked sickly. His silvery hair was stringy and hung limply in dirty knots. His beard was a dirty and disheveled mess. But the worst thing was his nails, they had grown long and yellow. The sight of them made her want to turn away in disgust, but she couldn't. The King carried a pungent scent that didn't help soothe the revulsion she felt bubbling in her stomach.

"Your Grace," she curtseyed. Slipping on a smile, mask in place to looked pleased at his sudden appearance. To hide the worry that crept on her, having been warned by her father and brother of the king's impetuous behavior.

He blinked at her, his eyes hooded in suspicion, a scowl settled over his face. He looked ready to chide her, but then his expression changed instantly. His lips curved into a smile, eyes glittering in delight as they looked her over, "Joanna?" His voice was frail and distant, "Is that you?"

"No, your grace," She answered swiftly, startled at the mistake.

The answer wasn't what he wanted to hear. "Don't lie to me," he snapped harshly, mouth twisting in rage, "I'm not mad!" He growled, before his face softened, "Forgive me, Joanna," he pleaded, and without warning, he took one of her hands in his, placing a clumsy kiss onto her knuckles.

Cersei looked towards the guards to help her, but they stood silently. "My King," She deftly slipped her hand out of his greedy ones. "I must be going," she felt the trickle of panic beginning to seep into her heart.

"So soon?" He sounded disappointed, "Please, stay," he begged, "Don't go running back to Tywin so quickly," His face hardened at the mention of her father.

"I must," Cersei turned to go, but stopped when she felt his grip on her shoulder. His nails dug into her flesh causing her to wince in pain.

"Let go of me," her heart was pounding in her chest. The more she moved, the deeper his nails dug in. Crimson droplets were exposed from the cuts, dribbling down her pale skin. "Please, you're hurting me," She felt tears swelling in her eyes.

"Do something!" she half cried, half demanded of the guards. They did nothing, watching her beneath their helms. Unmoved by her pleas or their king's madness.

"Come back with me, Joanna," the king encouraged. "Rhaella doesn't control me." He smiled, "I'll be good to you."

His voice was beginning to get drowned out, by the sound of her heartbeat, which seemed to thunder in her ears. Her vision was blurred from tears. She wanted to crawl deep within herself to hide, to protect herself from whatever it was the king had in mind for her.

Then a voice broke through. It pulled her out of her self-induced abyss, snapping her back in the presence.

"Father."

Cersei blinked back tears, a rush of relief filled her chest at this unannounced savior. There approaching them was Daeron Targaryen and behind him was the kingsguard knight, Ser Oswell Whent.

Aerys turned his attention towards his son. "Go away," he demanded, "We're busy!" He put his other hand on Cersei's shoulder, gently as if they were friends.

"Father, they're looking for you," Daeron coaxed him. "Your Small Council members," he added, talking to the king like one would a child to get him to do something. "They need you."

"They do?" Aerys' eyes grew hazy before he nodded, "Yes, they do," he removed his hands from her shoulders. "These Kingdoms would be lost without me," he continued talking to himself, "Come, come, I have kingdoms to run," he barked at the guards, walking past them without second thought or look.

It wasn't until he turned the corridor and was out of sight did Cersei allow herself to breathe once more. She sagged in relief, leaning against the stone corridor, her breaths haggard and greedy as she tried to rein in her frantic heartbeat. Her fingers going to the cuts that were curtesy of the king. She wiped away the blood, leaving red streaks across her skin.

"Lady Cersei," Daeron's voice was hesitant, "My apologies," he said, "Did he hurt you?"

Anger and fear churned in her stomach to form a volatile mix. "It'll take more than a few scratches to hurt me," she snarled. She wouldn't look weak or scared in front of him.

"Of course, my lady."

It was the softness of his tone that brought her to look at him. Sympathy lay beneath his pale purple eyes, and when she met his gaze, it was enough to snuff the anger in her gut and for her to feel a bit of shame at how she had unfairly lashed out at him.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, her hand going to her head, feeling suddenly dizzy from the entire ordeal.

"You have no need to apologize, Lady Cersei," He assured her, "Come, I will escort you back to the Tower."

She wanted to refuse. After all, this was still the man who had defeated Rhaegar. He had bested her prince. He was the reason why Rhaegar had received her in a poor mood. Had Rhaegar won, he would've been pleased and inviting towards her, but this spare prince took that away from her.

However, she knew she could not. Those were not the duties of a lady, even in anger or discomfort, one must always be gracious and accommodating. They weren't fair expectations, but when was anything fair when it came to the roles women had to play?

"I would be grateful, Prince Daeron," She lied, throwing in a thankful smile when she finished, praying for their time together to be brief and quiet.

They walked at first in an awkward silence. The Prince seemed undecided on whether or not to address his father's behavior. Not that she minded, she preferred the silence especially if it included not dwelling what happened to her.

To stop herself from reflecting on it, she glanced over towards him to see he was dressed for the training yard. To practice with the sword he stole from his brother, she thought sourly. Cersei spotted the sword, sheathed, tied to his belt, the golden hilt, and pommel carved to resemble dragon flame, poking out.

"It's a remarkable sword."

She looked up to see he had caught her staring. His eyes were beautiful, lilac pools, but she silenced those treasonous thoughts before they could go any further. This was the man who stole his brother's sword. A jealous brute who could only use violence, who possessed none of Rhaegar's finer qualities.

"It is," Cersei agreed, one you're not worthy of, but she hid her true sentiments behind a polite veneer. If he thinks I'm going to congratulate him on winning then he is sorely mistaken.

He returned her smile, easily duped by it. "The sword of my ancestors," his fingers resting on the hilt. "You can almost feel the power of it, the rich history this blade has seen." His eyes looked lost in thought.

"It's a sword, my prince," Ser Oswell cut in dryly. "You use it to poke the other person full of holes."

Daeron laughed, "Hide your awe and envy behind your japes all you wish," he replied, "but you cannot fool me."

"My prince," the knight deferred, ducking his head, but his smile could be seen.

"Care to hold it, Lady Cersei?"

Cersei was stunned by the sudden question. Long had she watched in sullen silence her brother get to fight, get to train with swords while she was given needles and told to be happy. She had never wanted to stitch. She wanted to fight. The control, the power that came with it. To have it in her hands and no one else's. She was denied that and was suppose to be thankful for having such power taken away from her.

"Prince Daeron," She wondered if he lost his wits when his brother had hit him during their bout. "I am a lady." She wanted the sword, she couldn't deny that, but she couldn't look eager. She had to observe decorum. Another dance, she was forced to play. Another farce expected of her.

"I noticed," he grinned, "The dress gives it away."

She felt her lips twitch at that infectious smile, but she snuffed it out, cursing the man's charm as she did. She found her annoyance for him wane at the temptation he put to her.

Refusing to let him see his words have an effect on her, she replied to his jest like she would one of Jaime's, with a glare.

However, he did what Jaime never did. He bowed his head, "My apologies, if I offended, my lady," he offered, sounding contrite.

"You did not." She replied quickly. Like he had the power to do such a thing. As if she would care what he said or thought of her. The idea so ludicrous she had to stop herself from laughing.

"Some of the finest warriors in my family were women," Daeron observed thoughtfully, "Seems foolish of us to forget them, or worse ignore them." He pulled the sheathed sword out from his belt, "Queen Visenya used this sword herself to help her husband conquer the Seven Kingdoms," He looked at the sword with reverence, "As did her sister, Rhaenys and there have been countless others throughout my family. Women who fought and died for our cause," his eyes moved from the sword and onto her. "So I ask again, my lady, would you care to hold it?"

She could've fallen into his eyes in that moment, but she pulled her attention away to avoid temptation. Rhaegar awaits me, she chided herself. "I would," she found herself saying, unable to resist the pull she felt at holding a weapon.

He smiled, looking pleased at her decision, moving the sword so she could take it from the scabbard. "It awaits your touch," he encouraged.

Slowly, Cersei moved her hand towards it, when her fingers touched the hilt, she felt what only she could describe as a jolt go through her. Power, she realized, her fingers carefully wrapping around the hilt, wanting to savor the movement, the feel of it within her grip. Ever so slowly, she withdrew it from its leather scabbard, not wanting to appear clumsy or to accidentally damage it.

It slid effortlessly from its cover, it was lighter then she thought. She didn't take her eyes off the blade, studying its fine details, the ruby wrought on the cross guard that felt to be winking at her. It is the very eye of the blade, she thought, as if every wielder of the sword could view her through it in an instant.

"What do you think?" Daeron was still smiling, his eyes going between her and the blade.

"Magnificent," she breathed, unable to take her eyes off of it.

"Try it out," he encouraged, "A few swings," he added gently at her confused look.

She nodded vigorously, unable to contain her excitement, feeling it go from her heart to her fingertips. Cersei took a step back, careful of her surroundings, as she tried to remember how Jaime would use it during one of his lessons, she'd spy on when she'd quit her needlework. Cersei performed it from memory, a cut downwards, but in doing so, her feet nearly tripped over each other in the step. Frantically, in a half heartbeat she feared she was going to trip and fall, but Daeron's hand found her shoulder and stopped her. When she regained her balance, his hand dropped.

"A good first effort," he praised.

"No, it was not," Her cheeks were hot. She knew she was bad. She didn't need him to lie to her about it, to try to make her feel good that she was terrible.

"You are too hard on yourself, my lady," he replied quietly, "With practice you could be the next Queen Visenya."

She snorted at the suggestion unable to hide her derision at his foolishness. "Practice?" She scoffed, "You think my father would allow that?" She sneered, "You think my future husband would want a warrior as a wife?"

He frowned, taken aback by her caustic tone. "I pity the man who'd try to deny you, my lady."

"Here," She mumbled, images of the Crown Prince flickering before her. "It belongs to you." She offered him back his sword.

He took it with a nod, sheathing it before returning the scabbard back to his belt.

She couldn't deny the disappointment that filled her at having the sword out of her grip. The power she felt rushing through her when Dark Sister was in her hand was undeniable. It was addicting.

In her mind's eye, she could see herself wielding it, cutting down men who'd oppose her, weaken her, try to stop her. Each of them falling by the wayside to her blade. The thrill was exulting, coursing through her blood, tantalizing her beneath her skin as the triumphs were conjured before her.

To know she'd never experience that sensation again bothered her. Not wanting to dwell on what she was denied, she looked ahead to see they had reached the Tower of the Hand. "Thank you, Prince Daeron, for the escort," Her tone was polite, but dismissive. She ended it with a curtsey.

"Lady Cersei," he bowed his head. "It was a pleasure," he smiled, gesturing to his knight for them to retreat, but he hadn't taken more than few steps before he stopped and turned back to face her, "You have a fire, my lady. It'd be a shame to see it extinguished." And with those parting words he left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Mina Tyrell is an OC in all but name in this story, I suppose. That being said, I still tried my best to write her in a believable way. After all she is a daughter of the famous Queen of Thorns, a certain brashness and intelligence should be expected.
> 
> Don't forget to drop a comment. The muse is insatiable, and hearing your feedback keeps it happy and motivated.
> 
> Thanks again,
> 
> -Spectre4hire


	11. Dalliance

278 AC

Jaime:

He groaned.

Jaime followed that up by silently cursing Robert. It had been him, who had insisted they drink, and they did and then the wine kept flowing: To celebrate Daeron's victory! Robert had said as if it was obvious.

We drank and we celebrated as if it had been us who had bested the crown prince and won a famed sword, another groan followed, as the hazy images of last night assaulted his mind.

Damn him, Jaime blinked in the dim light of his chambers. His full bladder and grousing stomach making it impossible for him to try to go back to sleep and to pretend that he was well. His decision made, he pushed away the covers, got up and made his way to the chamber pot.

I could refill a half dozen bottles, he thought wryly, after relieving himself of what felt like all the wine he had drunk last night. What a vintage that would be, he smirked, lion's shower, he mused, Lannister Gold, he chuckled, finding the levity a nice reprieve to the gnawing headache. More names came to him while he washed his face and hands. They varied in amusement.

He inspected his appearance of the looking glass that hung above his table. Paled faced, disheveled hair, with green eyes blearily looking back at him. The Heir to Casterly Rock, he silently decreed, he could sense his father's glare, hear the disapproval in his tone if he saw Jaime in such a state. Jaime thought himself brave, but he wasn't foolish enough to risk his father's ire by leaving his chambers in such a state.

A sudden knock at the door got his attention, and caused a brief, but annoying throb behind his right eye. He groaned, sending a glare in the door's direction.

"Jaime?"

"Ned?" Confused at the unexpected arrival of his friend, Jaime made his way to the door to let him in. When he opened it, he put a fake smile in place to try to mask his current misery.

Ned wasn't fooled for a second. His grey eyes pierced through the deception. He looked him over, a touch of pity flickered onto his expression. "You're not the first person Robert's talked into drinking, you know." The faint hints of a smile played on his lips. "Why do you think I'm here?"

Jaime chuckled, "Never again," he vowed, a moan followed when a fissure of pain wracked through his skull. He stepped aside to let his friend in. "Tell me how does my former friend fare?"

"He's awake," Ned ignored Jaime's insincere claim of him ending his friendship with the heir to Storm's End due to last night's drinking. "Robert's out in the training yard." He chuckled when he noticed Jaime's frown. "He's sparring with some of the guards."

It was bad enough Robert got Jaime to drink so much that put him in this state, but to know Robert was out there without any ailment while Jaime was suffering. It made him inwardly curse the unfairness of it all.

"I felt the same way," Ned seemed to sense Jaime's thoughts. "It was back in the Vale, and Robert and I had gotten into Lord Arryn's larder," he admitted sheepishly, "I was in bed all day, suffering while Robert was back out going through his usual routine as if we hadn't drunken..." He stopped, "It doesn't matter."

Jaime grinned, "Thanks," he meant it, "That helps."

Ned returned the smile, "Aye, I thought it might. I was worried I'd find you in a similar state."

He gestured to himself to show that his friend was right in his suspicion.

"Will you be joining us in the yard?"

"Aye," Jaime was looking forward to it. "Beating Robert may be the cure I need." He tried his best to sound confident, but his scratchy throat made it difficult. "Is Prince Daeron out there with him?"

"No, but I expect he'll join soon. No doubt, he'd like to test his new sword."

"He isn't the only one," Jaime hoped his friend would lend him the sword so that he could have a chance at wielding the famous valyrian steel sword. He was sure Daeron wouldn't object. That was how the Prince was with his friends-generous and loyal.

"I'll let Robert know to expect you," Ned made his way back to the doors to leave.

"Thanks, Ned," Jaime called to his friend, "I appreciate it."

The northerner nodded and smiled, "Just make sure you beat him."

"I will." That would be his tonic- vengeance, and one he'd drink gladly.

\---------------------------------

An hour later only found Jaime moderately better. He had washed and dressed, breaking his fast on a bit of bread, jam, and bacon. He didn't dare test his stomach, and found it difficult to eat with the pain residing in both his head and gut.

He ate alone. He wasn't surprised not to find his sister, believing she was probably mourning the loss of her beloved prince. I tried to warn her, he thought, to soften the blow and her expectations, he shook his head, she's blind when it comes to Rhaegar.

After finishing his meal, he returned to his chambers, and finished his letter to Elia. He scribbled a few lines about the duel between Daeron and Rhaegar, promising to send another letter soon with more details if pressed, before he signed it, and sealed it.

He hoped it wouldn't take too long to reach Elia in Dorne. Jaime was always anxious after sending them, beginning to quietly countdown until the next one from her would arrive for him. He missed her dearly, and longed to see her.

They were still not expected to marry for another year or more. A wait that seemed agonizingly long and cruel in Jaime's view. So he hoped to at least have her return to the Rock or for him to finally visit Dorne at some point in the future to help alleviate the wait of their wedding.

Jaime hoped his friends were still out in the training yard. Wanting to join them now that he was dressed and able to actually move without the fear of vomiting. He also wanted to thank Robert for his generosity with the wine from last night. His thoughts on his planned revenge on his friend came to a sudden halt at seeing his sister scurrying in front of him, looking frazzled and in a daze.

"Cersei?" He followed her. He had thought she was in her chambers. Expecting her to lock herself in their to mourn and vent her crown prince's defeat for days.

She looked up at the sound of his voice. Her green eyes wide, a flicker of something flashed across her face before it slipped away and was replaced with a scowl. She quickly tried to cover herself with a rough spun cloak that clung to her loosely.

"What are you doing out?" He halted her before she could escape. His eyes taking in her frizzled hair, and pale face, "What's this?" He saw the red on her dress, looking closely to see it was actually the smear of blood on her shoulders. "Who did this?" He growled. Pain and nausea all but forgotten to the anger he felt stirring within his gut at the thought of someone attacking his sister.

Cersei flinched as if struck, "It's n-nothing," she dismissed, covering the scratches and blood stains with her cloak.

"No, it's not," Jaime didn't like this one bit. He put his hand on her shoulder, she recoiled at the touch. "Cersei," his voice, softer and gentler. "It's me," he assured her, "You can tell me." He whispered, his grip on her arm softened, but he kept his hand there to remain reassuring.

"No," her voice cracked, "You can't do anything to help me."

He frowned. "Of course, I can," he argued. "I'm your brother," he reminded her, "They won't get away with this." He gently moved her away from the corridor they were in to an alcove where he hoped they'd avoid attention.

"He already did," Cersei whimpered, ducking her head.

Jaime felt heat pour into his heart-hot and bubbling. He could never remember seeing his sister looking so dejected. This wasn't his strong, vibrant sister. She seemed a shadow of her former self.

"Father must be told."

"No," Cersei's voice hitched.

Jaime frowned, trying to calm the anger that stirred within his chest. He didn't want to sound impatient or unsympathetic to his sister's plight. "Why not?" He asked softly through gritted teeth biting down on his rising frustration at her unwillingness to have him help her.

"Because, you won't be able to do anything." She took a steady breath as if to compose herself before straightening up. Her green eyes determined if not red rimmed, her face defiant if not slightly pale. "It would be wise if you just pretended this didn't happen, brother," She tightened the cloak around herself, "That you didn't see me."

"I can't," he held up his arm to stop her from leaving. "How am I suppose to forget this?" He shook his head in dismay. He gestured to her, "look at you? What sort of brother would I be if I turned the other way."

"The smart one," Her green eyes were pleading.

"No," he refused to believe that. "Please, Cersei," he encouraged, "I can help you. Let me help you."

"Oh Jaime," a touch of sadness in her voice, her hand went to his face. "You can help me by not getting involved."

"Cersei," Jaime exhaled irritably.

"Lord Jaime?" A messenger had spotted them and made a beeline towards them.

It was all Cersei needed to slip out from his grip and leave the corridor, heading in the direction of her chambers. "What?" Jaime demanded, unbridled annoyance lacing his tone at having him being interrupted allowing Cersei to escape him before he could figure out what happened to her.

"My apologies, m'lord," the messenger blanched, "Your father requests your presence-Immediately."

\----------------------------------------

When Jaime had been told that his father requested an audience with him, he expected it to be in his father's solar. That assumption was proven wrong when it was the stables not the solar where he was led to by a pair of servants and a handful of guards. They informed him that Lord Tywin was out in the Kingswood and that was where Jaime was expected to meet him.

So off he rode out of the capital with a retinue of guards behind him to find his father's party in the Kingswood. Thankfully, for Jaime it hadn't taken him too long to see the Lannister banners through the thick foliage of the woods. Slowing his horse to a trot, he followed the path of Lannister red. Seeing guards greeting him with bowed heads, who were spread throughout a small area of the wood to make sure neither animal nor man bothered the Hand of the King.

It was then that he spotted his father. He was standing tall and proud dressed in a crimson doublet with gold trimmings and roaring lions. The golden chain that symbolized his title as Hand of the King hung loosely around his neck. He was walking on the road, a pair of guards behind him. He looked to be deep in thought, but the sound of the approaching horses caught his attention and Lord Tywin Lannister, Hand of the King, Warden of the West, Lord of Casterly Rock, and Jaime's father turned in their direction.

"Ah, Jaime," his father greeted him, even atop a horse while his father was standing Jaime still felt small in his presence.

"Father," he returned the greeting, a guard came forward to take the reins of his horse. He nodded his thanks before dismounting. Jaime looked around the surrounding woods all he could see was Lannister guards fanned out and on patrol. "Was there something wrong with your solar, Father?"

"Lions attract the attention of the lower beasts," His father observed, "and I didn't want our words caught in a spider's web." He then continued on his way down the road that cut through the Kingswood leaving Jaime to follow him.

"Has something happened?" Jaime chided himself for asking the obvious. Of course something had to have happened! Otherwise his father wouldn't have thought it necessary for them to meet and speak here instead of back at the Red Keep.

"Yes," his father confirmed, but offered no further explanation or clarification.

Jaime bit down the frown he wanted to show knowing it would earn him a scolding and would hinder his chances of learning more from his father. He wasn't one for silences, but he understand his father well enough to know he seemed to thrive on them. Tywin Lannister had no problem letting silence settle over any conversation or company he was in for as long as it took to give him an advantage.

He hated silences and was determined to end this one but it was his father who uncharacteristically broke it. "What do you know of Prince Daeron?"

"He's a great man," Jaime answered quickly, putting aside his confusion at the unexpected question. "A true friend," Trying to think on what more could be said about the prince who Jaime saw as his closest friend, akin to a brother, the last part Jaime voiced out loud to his father.

"I once thought the same about Aerys," His father noted softly, "It was I who knighted him. It was he who asked me to do it, and I did so gladly because he was my friend."

Jaime was stunned at seeing this rare slip of reminiscing from his father, who seemed to care little for his past especially when he was younger since it usually related to his father, Jaime's grandfather Lord Tytos. That didn't mean Jaime hadn't heard the stories about his father and the king in their youth, but it had never been from him. It had always come from his mother or one of his uncles or from idle gossip he had picked up whether it was in Casterly Rock or in King's Landing. His father had always been stern and quiet when the subject was mentioned.

"I erred in my judgment," he stopped to face Jaime. "Do not make that same mistake."

"Daeron isn't the king," Jaime argued, felt the need to defend his friend's character from that unfair comparison. He remained unflinching under his father's stern gaze. "He's a better man then him, the Crown prince too!"

His father regarded him silently for a few heartbeats before turning away and continuing walking. "Prince Daeron's shown to be a skilled fighter. His display within the Great Hall will be talked about for some time. As will the sword he earned the right to carry and pass down to his heirs." He pointed out, "However, it was only recently that he's proven his character to me."

"Father?"

"The Prince met with me this morning and informed me what his father did." The flecks of gold in Tywin's eyes seemed to burn at his last words.

Jaime was about to ask what his father meant when it became suddenly clear. "Cersei," realizing now why his sister had begged him not to pursue the topic and wanted it to be forgotten. The thought of the king attacking his sister made his blood boil, he balled his fists at the side. King or not, he couldn't control the lash of anger that stormed in his chest at the image of the king attacking his sister.

"An injustice has been done to our family," Father's voice was soft, but it still easily punctured through Jaime's thoughts. "One I will not forget nor will I forgive." He took a calming breath, a glint shone in the golden flecks of his green eyes. "But It may be something that we can press to our advantage. Reparations could be demanded or threats can be made," he continued. "If he thinks he could get away with abusing my daughter? Then he's madder than I thought." His jaw clenched. "My daughter," he growled, as ferocious as the lion sewn onto his doublets.

Jaime had never seen his father so furious. "Will you resign?"

Tywin shook his hand, "Aerys won't accept it, even if I threaten to let this slip. He'll struggle and fight to keep us close and this quiet. After all, he is still our king." His lips dipped in distaste at his last words spoken. "That still makes him powerful and dangerous. With plenty of sycophants who would pay dearly to see our family tarnished or destroyed."

"What will we do?" Jaime wasn't about to let someone further hurt or threaten their family. He knew his father would've come up with several plans already to appropriately handle this situation and to ensure their family stayed on top.

His father's eyes flicked around the empty road save for a few patrolling Lannister guardsmen before moving onto the trees that surrounded them and then to the branches that swayed over them. In each glance he looked to be trying to spot spies and shadows that were listening in on their conversation. In the seconds of silence that followed before his inspection eventually ceased and he seemed satisfied with the privacy they had.

"There have been whispers from across the Narrow Sea. It seems Lord Baratheon may have found a match for the Crown Prince." Jaime was caught off guard by the unexpected and what he thought was unrelated news to how his father was going to address the king and what he did to Cersei.

"From a Volantene noble family with recent connections to Lys," his father's tone sharpened at the mention of the Free City. "It isn't a coincidence. I have no doubt this betrothal will benefit the Spider. If these whispers turn out to be true and this union goes forward. Aerys will find himself with a potentially powerful Free City Alliance."

His father's tone made it clear his dislike of it. Whether it was the alliance itself or the fact that it meant Cersei wouldn't marry her prince, Jaime wasn't certain. However he figured it was probably both. Knowing his father thought little of the Free Cities, and would no doubt see this as an insult that they were selected over their family.

This will devastate Cersei, Jaime thought, a twinge of sadness followed knowing how much his sister had yearned for a betrothal between herself and the crown prince.

"If Aerys pursues this folly and ties his heir to the Free Cities then we must adjust accordingly," Tywin observed, "We must focus our efforts on his second son."

"Prince Daeron," Jaime understood at once what his father was planning, "You want a betrothal between him and Cersei."

"You are the Prince's best friend," his father reminded him, "You are in the perfect position to help facilitate this match."

Jaime's stomach clenched. On the surface nothing was wrong with the suggestion, but that didn't quiet his reservations on the role given to him. He didn't like the idea of it. As much as he loved his sister he wasn't sure what sort of wife she'd be with her temperament and pride potentially making her a rather poor spouse. And for the sake of his friendship with Prince Daeron a part of Jaime pitied him if he was to be matched with Cersei.

"Do you understand, Jaime?"

He blinked to see the stern gaze of his father looking down on him. Jaime could feel the heavy expectations from his father settling on his shoulders. Despite his hesitation, he couldn't go against his father, "I understand." His father looked down at him with a small but noticeable smile. Jaime hated the swell of satisfaction he felt rise within him at receiving it from him, as it was soon punctured by guilt.

"You are doing the right thing," he assured him. "Family must always come first." His father's hand hovered over Jaime's shoulder before he finally placed it there. "Even in regards to our friendships."

\-------------------------------------------

Daeron:

"I could get use to this," Jaime gave Dark Sister a few careful flicks. His eyes never leaving the valyrian blade.

Daeron smiled at his friend's enthusiasm, "It would be wise if you didn't."

Ned chortled from his side while Robert guffawed from where he was standing across from Jaime. There he was dirty and sweating, after having lost in his bout against Jaime, but defeat couldn't puncture his jovial good mood since he blamed his losses on his inability to wield his Warhammer for their sparring.

The friends had met in the training yard to practice. It was their normal routine, the same one they've gone through ever since Ned and Robert first arrived to the capital. There a friendship between the four of them was quick to form and the daily continuous of it allowed the friendship to stick. Now sadly, this was their last day in King's Landing. They were leaving in the morning with Lord Arryn.

Jaime grinned, looking away from the famous sword and back towards Daeron. "Just a harmless suggestion," he explained, while the sword sliced through air.

"Uh huh," Daeron wasn't fooled. "I'll keep that in mind then," he added dryly.

"Can you fault me?" He asked, "It's magnificent."

"I don't think he's going to return it," Ned observed solemnly, but his grey eyes shone with mirth.

Robert laughed, as he dusted himself off. "It's as if you've never seen a sword before."

"That would make your defeat from me all the more humbling," Jaime countered.

Robert grumbled, but it was clear the jape didn't truly upset him.

At watching his friend wield Dark Sister, Daeron's mind drifted back towards earlier in the day when he presented the same opportunity to Jaime's sister, the Lady Cersei. He recalled the warmth in her eyes, the curve of her lips as she was enamored with not just the weapon, but the opportunity itself to wield it. It was the first time that Daeron thought she looked truly stunning. Before her beauty had always been marred, in his eyes it had been hooded by her petulance and her infatuation with his brother. It was in seeing her wield Dark Sister, in seeing her blissfully happy was the veil removed and it gave Daeron a glimpse of the woman beneath.

But then it was gone. When his mind reminded him how this woman cared little for him and had wanted his brother to win their duel. Those thoughts were enough to cast the shroud back onto her and to leave him disinterested.

She wants my brother and she's welcomed to him.

Besides it was another woman who was on his mind-Mina Tyrell. A woman who chose him, who wanted him, and didn't see him in his brother's shadow. Their time together last night was well spent, and he was eager in seeing her again this evening before supper. Just the thought of the her was enough for his pulse to quicken and for a smile to stretch on his lips.

"My Prince?"

Daeron blinked into the present to see Jaime was returning Dark Sister, offering it hilt first to him. "Thank you," he cleared his throat, hoping they didn't notice his mental drifting.

"Thank you," Jaime insisted, oblivious to Daeron's slip as his friend seemed more distracted by the ancestral Targaryen blade. "It was an honor to wield such a weapon."

Daeron smiled at his friend. "You are welcome," he patted him on the back, "It will not be the last time either if you'd like."

Jaime matched his smile. "I would like that." His green eyes flickering to the valyrian sword before returning to Daeron's face where he tried to compose himself, and hide his blatant interest in it, He shrugged, "If you insist."

Daeron laughed, shaking his head at his best friend's antics while Ned and Robert were quick to join in. Jaime watched it unfold with his cocky grin.

"I'm throwing a feast tonight in the Small Hall," Jaime announced once the laughter subsided, "To celebrate our new friendships," his eyes turned to Ned and Robert, "And to see you off as you leave the capital in the morning."

The reminder that their new friends were leaving brought a sudden pall over the mirthfulness they had just been sharing.

"I'd be honored," Ned agreed quickly.

"Aye," Robert added to his friend's sentiments, "An honor to drink you out of your wine," he laughed, infectious and loud, and it was enough to bring smiles and chuckles amidst the friends.

"A steep challenge, my friend," Jaime warned him through a smile.

"I'll have help," Robert slapped Ned on the back, before turning to Daeron. "Isn't that so, my prince?"

"Of course, cousin," Daeron had no intention of matching his friend in drinks remembering Jaime's mood and tales of how his morning was spent recovering from the previous night of drinking with him.

Robert grinned at his acceptance. "So it's settled," he then turned back to Jaime, "I imagine we can bring guests?"

"Indeed," Jaime allowed, "Despite the name, the Small Hall is large enough for some extra guests even when its forced to house your pride, my friend."

Robert laughed, uncaring of the jape at his expense. "Careful, Jaime, other men, weaker and less assured would see that as a slight," He wagged a finger at him. "Thankfully for you, you have me instead," he winked at that, his smiling turned mischievous when he nudged Ned's shoulder. "You heard Jaime, Ned? So make sure you invite your Dornish beauty for the feast."

"Thank you, Robert." Ned replied stiffly, but his lips twitched, proving the stoic northerner was no match to his friend's charms.

While his friends bickered and bantered about the details of the feast tonight, Daeron's mind went to the beautiful Mina Tyrell where he couldn't help but wonder about the possibility of bringing her as his guest…

\----------------------------------

"This just proves what fools my family are," Mina Tyrell lay tangled amidst the covers, naked and beautiful. Her hair was a mess of curls that fell around her face, but she didn't seem to care. Her blue eyes were bright and inviting, while her lips curved into that smirk of hers which Daeron found quite irresistible.

"They chase the indifferent dragon while the better one is within reach."

Daeron stood at the table, having slipped out of the bed to fetch them drinks. His back was to her, so she couldn't see the smile that touched his lips at her praise. Her words had a way of boosting his pride. With her he never felt like he was in his brother's shadow. How she looked at him, talked to him, touched him, there was never any doubt in his mind or heart that it was he who she wanted and nothing else.

"My lady is too kind," He poured them their glasses of Arbor Gold.

"Your lady?" The teasing lilt in her tone made his smile widen, "Two dalliances together and you've already claimed me as yours?"

He chuckled, turning to face her to see the mirthful hue in her eyes as well as her distinctive smirk. "I wouldn't be so brave or as foolish to make such a bold claim." He took a seat at the edge of his bed.

"Such a wise prince," her arms wrapped themselves around him from behind, "If such claims were allowed then would that mean you're mine?"

"Possibly," he breathed in her floral intoxicating scent, strands of her hair tickling the side of his face.

"Hmm, to possess a prince," A seductive whisper to his ears, "Now that is tempting."

A shiver of pleasure strummed through him at her touch and voice. "You could do worse."

"I very much could." She moved to sit beside him and took her glass of Arbor Gold and drank from it. "My brother would faint at the chance," She rolled her eyes at her brother's obvious bootlicking ways. "That is why this should remain our secret," A gloss of Arbor clung to her lips, "Only between us," her free hand moving up and down his arm. "I don't want my family or the court to infect this." She proved her point by kissing him. He could taste the Arbor Gold. The kiss was a brief press of her lips to his, acting as a delightful promise of what was to come between them.

"To our secret dalliances," he tapped her glass to his, earning a smile from her before the two drank to their renewed agreement.

"Here I thought all I'd find in the capital is the smell of shit and bad food," She looked down at her empty glass. "I never would've thought to have snared a dragon." An inflection of pride in her voice at the observation. She got to her feet, taking his empty glass as she did before moving towards the table where the half empty Bottle of Arbor Gold awaited.

It was difficult for Daeron to keep his concentration since his eyes followed her graceful steps, the sway of her hips and naked bum as she moved to get them refills. "Snared a dragon?" He found his voice when she poured them a second glass, or was it third?

She looked over her shoulder towards him, smirking, "Just a saying," her voice was reassuring, "Besides if any of us was the dragon during this. It was me," she claimed proudly.

"You?" He bit down on the chuckle that wanted to slip past.

"Absolutely," she said quickly and confidently. "It was I who pursued you," she reminded him, "In this you were the rose and I the dragon," she sounded amused at the reversal of their sigils.

"Mayhaps," he wouldn't confirm her observation, "but it was I who plucked the rose."

She giggled, "That's what you're calling it?" A rueful shake of her head followed, as she turned to him after pouring their glasses. Her eyes shone in amusement, a smile clinging to her lips. "It is clear a sword suits you better than a harp."

He stood up, noticing the way her eyes darted down before returning to his face, causing him to smile. "You have very much enjoyed my sword," His smile only grew when she rolled her eyes at his choice of words.

"If only your wit was as sharp at that new sword of yours," She said unimpressed, but her eyes betrayed her, twinkling in the candlelight.

Daeron took the glass from her before pressing a quick kiss to her cheek. "It would seem my sword is never far from your mind," he winked down at her before taking a sip.

"No, it is not," she admitted wickedly. "That's why I told my family I was at the Sept. I'm lighting a candle to the Maiden. Thanking her for protecting my chastity and virtue or something," she trailed off, waving her hand, the amused glint in her eyes a clear indication of what she thought of it all.

Daeron couldn't help but chuckle at her excuse, "The Sept? That's where they think you are now?"

Her impish smirk was perfection in his eyes when he found himself the center of it.

"They do indeed, my prince," her voice a seductive purr. "That's why I must stay a little longer," she pressed her lips to his. "I have a devout reputation to maintain."

\---------------------------------

"Prince Daeron."

He looked up to see Jaime approaching him, he smiled in greeting towards his friend, "Jaime, are you welcoming all your guests in such a manner?" He hadn't even reached the Small Hall yet, he and Ser Gwayne were still climbing the steps when Jaime spotted them, descending the steps to intercept them.

Jaime returned the smile, "No, I am not," he joked, "so do not let the others know," his expression turned somber and his voice dropped when he continued, "I was wondering if we could speak privately for a few minutes."

"Of course," Daeron was surprised by the shift in his friend's tone. "Ser Gwayne," he turned to his sworn shield, "Will you allow Jaime and I a few moments?"

Ser Gwayne nodded, "Yes, my prince."

Satisfied, Jaime urged Daeron to follow him into a corridor with Ser Gwayne walking a respectful distance, far enough not to overhear, but still able to watch and intervene if the occasion called for it.

Daeron looked back at his sworn shield and then back at Jaime, "What's troubling you, friend?"

Jaime frowned as if confused at Daeron's apprehension. "Nothing," he waved that suggestion off, "I wanted to thank you actually."

It was Daeron's turn to frown. "Thank me?"

"Yes, about my sister," Jaime's voice dropped, "And what you did to protect her."

Shame filled Daeron's gut. He ducked his head as he recalled his father's beastly behavior while trying to push away his thoughts on what he would've done had he not arrived when he did. "Think nothing of it," he said tightly, "If anything I should be apologizing for my-"

"Don't," Jaime cut him off, "He's the king." There was a finality in his friend's tone, and his green eyes hardened. "Let us speak no more of it."

"Very well," he too had no desire to think or discuss the matter anymore. He had meant to say something about it to Jaime, after he had spoken to Lord Tywin, but the day slipped away from him. And when he did find himself in his friend's presence, he allowed his selfishness to overrule his senses because he didn't want the topic to drudge up the fun they were having.

"My family is grateful." Jaime told him, "I am grateful," his smile thawed the stoicism that had covered his expression. He patted Daeron on the shoulder, "You're a good friend, my prince."'

"You as well, Jaime," Daeron returned it, "And my father should be grateful for your family. You have served us well and faithfully." He added, "Westeros has prospered due to the friendships between House Targaryen and Lannister."

"They have," Jaime agreed, "So come let's celebrate that friendship." Jaime's hand remained on Daeron's shoulder steering him to where Ser Gwayne was waiting, "And to the new ones we've made."

\---------------------------

"You will visit me in Storm's End?" Robert was adamant in his invitation. "You cannot leave me with only my parents and brothers," he shuddered at the thought of it before dousing his dislike of the notion with more ale.

Daeron and his friends were seated together in the Small Hall, despite their small group they were as raucous and as messy as a group with twice their numbers. They had spent the night eating, and drinking, and joking as the friends relished their time together knowing it would be awhile before they were all together again. Dirty plates and goblets that went from empty to half-filled were the lone remnants of the feast the friends had shared. Which were starting to be taken away by Lannister servants who moved quietly and quickly as they went without disturbing them.

"You speak as if your brothers are Others, Robert," Ned shook his head, looking across the table at his friend with an expression torn between amusement and bewilderment at how his friend viewed his family.

"Stannis is as cold as them, I'll wager," Robert replied, "Gruff and stern, you'd think he'd seen fifty years instead of ten and four."

"Of course, I'll visit, Cousin."

Daeron had never seen the famous ancestral seat of House Baratheon. The seat, they took from House Durrandan after Orys Baratheon helped Aegon conquer Six of the Seven Kingdoms. It hadn't just been the seat of Storm's End, Orys claimed for House Baratheon, but their sigil and words too. As well as taking King Argilac's daughter as his bride.

Robert grinned, clearly relieved that he wouldn't be forgotten in the Stormlands. "You're a good man, Daeron." He raised his tankard in salute before drinking.

"Storm's End does sound like quite the castle," Jaime observed, from his seat at Daeron's right. "Be a shame not to see it."

"A tour and stay of Storm's End for a tour and stay of Casterly Rock?" Robert offered.

"Agreed, Though you're getting the better end of this deal. None better than Casterly Rock," Jaime boasted. "You're invited too," He looked over to Ned, adding the invitation not as an afterthought but as a sincere assurance that his friend didn't feel forgotten or ignored. "And you as well, Lady Ashara."

The Dornish Beauty who was sitting beside Ned smiled at Jaime's invitation. "I would be honored," she ducked her head in thanks, "Though I am sure I'll be seeing it soon since you will be marrying my dear friend."

A slight, but brief glaze could be seen in Jaime's eyes at the mention of his pending marriage with the Dornish Princess, Elia Martell.

Robert guffawed, Ned and Daeron traded smiles while Lady Ashara's purple eyes held a mischievous sheen to them at her teasing.

"I will indeed," Jaime confirmed, taking it in stride. Looking and sounding pleased at his future with Princess Elia.

That earned an additional smile out of Ashara who looked on approvingly.

"Hear, Hear," Daeron tapped his empty tankard against the table. He looked around at his friends who were gathered around him. To one side sat Jaime and Robert, and the other Ned and Ashara, she had come at Ned's invitation.

Lady Cersei had been with them for part of the night, but she had excused herself as soon as etiquette allowed her to leave. Her presence hadn't been missed and despite a weak protest from Jaime for her to stay longer, her departure left the others with no real reaction of regret or disappointment. She hadn't proven to be in the same good mood as her brother or had taken up the responsibilities of hosting this feast as he had.

She was morose and quiet, and though she sat next to Daeron on Jaime's suggestion, the seat he now filled, Daeron spoke few words to her. Finding himself with a difficult challenge of what to do or say since it had only been this morning that his father had touched and terrified her. An act that brought shame and guilt to Daeron, but he wasn't sure that was what the Lady Cersei wanted to hear nor have the incident being brought up at all especially when they were in the company of others. So he kept quiet as well in his dealings with her.

He was ashamed to admit it but he was a bit relieved when she chose to leave. As it gave him the selfish reasons of not having his mind being distracted or dwelling on what had occurred between her and his father. Feelings that he tried to push away, as the sliver of guilt wormed its way into his heart at such self-centeredness.

I am not that man, he told himself, I will never be.

A booming laugh from Robert pulled Daeron out of his thoughts about Lady Cersei to see Jaime was grinning. A certain glimmer in his eyes which made Daeron realize he had just said some clever jape. Ned's chuckling and Ashara's laughter only confirming his suspicion. He allowed himself to smile so as to not disappoint his friend in thinking he hadn't heard.

The smile didn't feel forced or deceitful to him, since it came quickly and naturally to Daeron when he was in the company of his friends. It may not have been Jaime's jape that was the cause of it. However, it didn't mean it wasn't any less sincere since it still came from seeing his friends' together and happy.

"I'd like to say a few words," Daeron cleared his throat to get his friends' attention, finding himself suddenly promoted to speak and to put together a toast for the evening.

"You came to this city as strangers and you leave as my dearest friends. I thank the Old and the New Gods for putting you upon my path. I consider myself fortunate for the friendships we've forged these last few weeks. May they endure the test of time and distance." He raised his glass, "I drink to you, Robert Baratheon, and you Eddard Stark, my newest friends!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We'll get Rhaella's reaction and thoughts on the duel between her sons in the next chapter. Sorry if there was any doubt about that.
> 
> It wouldn't be ASOIAF in my opinion without a little bit of 'cringey' pillow talk between our characters.
> 
> I really enjoy writing and showing the comradery and exploring the friendships between these young men and what might have been in a believable manner. Hopefully, you like their portrayal as well.
> 
> I am aware that Robert comes across as too much of a joker who loves to drink, I'm not trying to make him one dimensional, but trying to stick to what we know about him even when he was young he was amiable, charming, and liked his ale. However, that doesn't mean he'll evolve into that man. He'll experience some growth and also be given chances to shine and show maturity and wisdom that we just haven't reached yet for this story. So I just wanted to add that in case there were any concerns about his character and his arc in this story.
> 
> Don't forget to drop a review to let me know what you think. It means a lot to get your feedback and to see the audience's thoughts and reactions. The feedback in general for this story has been tremendous so my one request is let's keep it that way, but we can always increase it. :)
> 
> Thanks for the awesome support you give this story,
> 
> -Spectre4hire


	12. 279 AC: Dorne

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who was kind enough to leave behind a comment for the last chapter. Your support means so much to me.

279 AC

Joanna:

"You summoned us, cousin,"

"I did, Gerion," She wasn't bothered by the informal greeting, she came to expect such charm from him. She held her hand up to stop Kevan from correcting his youngest brother while Tygett did nothing in the matter, taking his seat, looking sour and uninterested.

She had called them to the solar, watching them take seats around her, the latest letter from Jaime was folded closed and at her elbow.

"Yes, Kevan, no need to waste your breath blustering," Gerion's green eyes gleamed in amusement.

"You're giving me a headache," Tygett poured himself some ale that had been brought to them by one of the castle's servants while Joanna had wine.

"To be fair, brother. You would be drinking regardless of any such pain I inflicted on you," Gerion took the seat, furthest away.

Tygett only grunted, deciding it was better to nurse his ale then continue bickering with his brother.

Joanna had gathered them all here because an opportunity had presented itself, and she could not ignore it. She would move forward with her plan first and then bring it to her husband's attention. She wasn't concerned of Tywin's reaction, knowing she had his trust in ruling the Rock while he was away as well as deferring to her when it came to their children.

So in her husband's absence she would rely on his brothers, who had served Tywin as advisers and councilors to help insure the continued prosperity of House Lannister. She would've included Genna as well, whose wit and cunning, she relied on, but sadly, she had been instructed to stay in bed for the remainder of her pregnancy.

"Is that from Jaime?"

"It is," Her fingers resting on the letter.

It had been a welcomed arrival as it gave her first glimpse of Tyrion outside of the Rock. He had been invited to The Water Gardens of Dorne by Princess Elia after Jaime had been invited to Dorne by Prince Doran. Tywin was reluctant despite Jaime's insistence his brother come with him. Tyrion hadn't left the safety of the Rock or Lannisport, but in the end, Joanna had convinced him.

A decision that looked to have been the right one as Jaime's letter brought with it great tidings. His words about his brother's time in Dorne caused her heart to swell with happiness.

He's happy, he enjoys himself, and has made friends.

The rest of which brought a few tear drops to fall on the letter, staining the paper and blotting bits of her son's messy scrawl.

They were tears of relief and joy overcame her at the thought of her son being well treated amongst strangers and making friends. Despite convincing Tywin to let him go, she could not deny her own fears that gnawed at her, having never left young Tyrion's side since he was born, and to let him not only out of her sight but so far away had left her stomach in knots, worried and fearful of what arrival awaited her son in Dorne.

She had not been the only one, Cersei too had misgivings, but never showed them in front of Tyrion who had been so happy and excited about the trip he would be taking with Jaime.

Putting aside her relief and happiness at Tyrion's warm welcome in Dorne. It was within this letter that Jaime had sparked the idea that she was determined to carry out.

"How are they?" Gerion always had a fondness for Joanna's children, doting on all three of them in equal measures. Regaling them with jokes and stories that easily catapulted him into the position as the children's favorite uncle.

"He is well," Joanna told them, "Tyrion is enjoying himself."

A relieved smile passed over the features of Gerion before he shifted his expression into a more relaxed look. It was brief, but telling only further showing his affection for his nephews.

"Jaime has also informed me, that Prince Daeron is expected to travel to Dorne after his visit in the Stormlands," She suspected the Prince had traveled to Storm's End, consoling his friend, and new lord, Robert, who had lost his parents in a storm on their way back to Westeros after securing a bride for Prince Rhaegar.

It had been a tragedy to lose Lord Steffon Baratheon and his wife, Lady Cassana. She respected them both, and considered them friends. Joanna wasn't alone in that sentiment, recalling the close friendship that Tywin had had with Aerys and Steffon when they were younger. A friendship that looked to have carried over to their sons as Daeron, Jaime, and Robert had become close friends too as well as Eddard Stark, Lord Rickard's second son. She only hoped their friendships didn't sour like their parents' had.

"I expect Prince Daeron to have already arrived to Dorne, but he will stay for a time, as he counts both Princess Elia and Prince Oberyn among his friends," Joanna continued, "That is why we will be sending Cersei to Dorne under the pretext of collecting Tyrion and bringing him back to the Rock."

With Crown Prince Rhaegar wedded to his Free Cities bride that meant Prince Daeron was the only attenable Targaryen prince that would be suited for their daughter, Cersei. It was important to move forward with Prince Daeron, as other lords would begin vying for the potential of marrying one of their sisters or daughters to Aerys' second son. What better way for them to start then under an inconspicuous guise as a visit to Dorne away from the prying eyes and shadows that are concealed in the capital and in the King's court?

"Another prince for Cersei?" Gerion surmised. Despite his efforts, he couldn't conceal his cleverness, even when he pretended not to possess it, settling for japes and bawdy stories.

It is because he fears that his wits could not match that of Tywin's, Joanna suspected, so he doesn't bother to try.

"Which number is this?" Gerion scratched his chin, feigning to be in deep thought, "Three? Four?"

"It is the second," Kevan chided him, sending his brother a look of disapproval.

"Tygett, I'm putting you in charge of the company of guards that will be escorting Cersei to Dorne," she turned to the only one who had yet to speak. "You will be leaving the day after next."

"Very well," he wasn't able to hide his dislike at the idea of having to travel to Dorne, "Does my brother know of this venture?"

"He will."

Tygett understood, and nodded, he finished his tankard of ale before standing up, "If you excuse me, I'll begin the preparations."

"Thank you, Tygett," She allowed him his leave, knowing that he probably chastened at being given instructions from her. He was a proud soldier, who prickled under Tywin's shadow, but he was loyal to the bone to their house so she allowed him his surly brooding.

"What of Cersei?" Kevan didn't make his opinion known of the plan or that it hadn't met with his brother's approval yet. He looked to be struggling with the proper description, "She has been unwell for some time."

"That's a gentle way of putting it," Gerion snickered, "Our little niece is sulking."

Their observations rung true.

Cersei had been inconsolable when it had been announced that a bride had been found for the Crown Prince. She had unwisely allowed delusions to settle in her head that Rhaegar was already hers, and had dreamed of the golden haired dragons she'd give him. With shattered dreams, she was sent back to the Rock by Tywin, where she sobbed and raged upon losing her beloved Rhaegar.

She had refused to go to the wedding, lingering at the Rock where she brooded and cursed her misfortune and the royal life that had been denied her. The only light for her had been Tyrion, but he was now in Dorne with Jaime. His absence had only let Cersei sink deeper into despair.

"I will handle Cersei," Joanna assured them, "I will remind her of her duties to our family. And what is expected of her."

"What of the King?" Kevan asked, "He's denied us once already." He frowned, "What's to stop him from denying us again?"

"It isn't in Aerys' nature to make the right decision when our beloved brother is involved," Gerion quipped.

"Summerhall."

A quiet hush had fallen over the solar at the mention of the ruined castle that once used by the Targaryen family. It had been destroyed by a disastrous fire that had killed King Aegon the unlikely, and his son and heir, Prince Duncan, and countless others of importance.

"Aegon's doom," Kevan muttered softly,

"Can be rebuilt and restored, our family can finance it as part of a betrothal agreement between our house and the crown," Joanna wanted to pull them out of their reflective haze, "And it can be made Prince Daeron's seat."

She had once thought Castamere could serve as a suitable seat, but she came across problems at the idea, so her interest shifted to the former Targaryen seat in the Stormlands. She knew restoring it would delight Aerys. Remembering when they were younger how he use to enjoy Summerhall, and the feasts he'd host there as a Prince when he felt King's Landing was too stifling and Dragonstone too grim.

It was a bleak ruin now. A smoldering graveyard that signaled the near annihilation of the Targaryen dynasty. It could be remade to its former glory, where revels and feasts and tourneys could be had there once more and not a place solely for mourning and reflection.

"That would be quite the financial undertaking," Kevan said cautiously.

Gerion chuckled, "To most families, mayhaps," he shrugged, "But last I checked we're sitting on a gold mine, brother."

"That is to be discussed with Tywin for another time," Joanna wasn't as concerned as Kevan, but neither was she as dismissive as Gerion. Saying her husband's name had the desired effect as it brought the two brothers to heel.

"I'll write the letter to Tywin to inform him of what we're planning," She expected his response and endorsement. "If that is everything," she began except she noticed Kevan looked like he wanted to speak, so she gestured for him to do so.

"There is a matter that we need to discuss," He revealed, "It regards earlier talks Tywin had with Lord Arryn."

"I'm aware of them," She recalled her husband mentioning them, "I'm listening."

"We can proceed with the next step involving Lord Arryn's heir, Elbert."

"Very well," Joanna understood what that entailed, "Send the appropriate letters."

\----------------------------------------

An hour later, Joanna found herself in the company of her daughter within the solar, Kevan and Gerion had departed with their appointed tasks, and Joanna was left to handle hers.

"Dorne?"

"That's right," She looked to see Cersei had been prepared for their meeting by the servants. Her face was freshly scrubbed, her hair washed, and her gown was clean and presentable save for a fresh rip among one of the sleeves.

In the aftermath of Rhaegar's wedding, Joanna had allowed Cersei her time and space to mourn and rage at the missed opportunity of being Rhaegar's wife and Westeros' Queen. She had hoped those feelings would stir Cersei's ambition and her pride at not allowing one rejected betrothal shape her life. She believed that Cersei would come to her not accepting such defeat and ready to move forward to get her revenge, but Joanna realized she was wrong.

I've failed her, she thought sadly, seeing her bereft daughter in such a state, I chose solitary instead of comfort when handling her distress. This only strengthened her resolve in making sure this betrothal went seamlessly. She would not have her daughter lose a second Targaryen Prince. Prince Daeron will be Cersei's husband, she vowed silently, no matter the cost.

"The time for reflections is over, darling," she squeezed her daughter's hand, "Westeros has lost an opportunity for a great Queen, and Rhaegar a lovely wife." Cersei's fingers squeezed tightly, "You will show the king and the court his folly and remind them that a lioness cannot be so easily spurned."

Cersei's reaction was a sniffle. Her lip trembled, while fresh tears threatened to fall.

"I thought I raised a lioness not a weepy house cat," Joanna chided her. She wanted to fan the fire that she knew her daughter possessed, which had been extinguished for too long. "A great beauty that was beyond compare to the maidens of this realm who would ensnare the proudest of dragons."

Her daughter wiped at her eyes, but no tears had been shed. "I am a lioness of the Rock," she hiccupped. Her lip was no longer shaking, and the pools that were in her eyes were gone, instead a simmering fire could be seen lurking beneath.

"I know you're upset, child, but you will use it," She confided in her, "It will motivate you and it will insure that you will not taste such bitterness again." She smiled at her daughter, thankful that she was slipping out of her brooding shell.

"It was suppose to be Rhaegar," she said petulantly.

"No," Joanna was quick in her reprimand, not allowing such a reaction. She hoped that was the dying outburst of her tantrum and not its beginning. "Rhaegar is lost to you. You will accept it and you will be glad of it."

"Glad?" Her tone threatened on disrespectful, "I would have been a Queen."

"So?" Joanna wasn't impressed,

Cersei was caught off guard by her glib response, "I-I'd be q-queen," she sputtered, "I-I'd have power," her eyes gleamed at the conjured future she let play out in her mind.

Joanna scoffed, "I didn't raise a fool," She shook her head, "You were at the capital?"

Cersei frowned. "I was."

"And what of Queen Rhaella? Did she have power?" She challenged, "Did she look happy?" It hurt her to voice the questions out loud, as it forced her to confront the grim reality that plagued the woman she had considered a dear friend for so many years.

She didn't want to be Queen, Joanna remembered, That crown had only given her grief and misery.

"No," she answered slowly, aware of the confirmation it brought, but she refused to let it dampen her for long. "Rhaegar would be different."

"You do not know that." Joanna noticed there was no conviction in her daughter's voice in her refusal,

"I do," she bowed her head, "H-he rejected me," her admission was a mere whisper, "I-I came to him, wanting to help, b-but he sent me away."

Joanna moved to stand behind her daughter, hugging her from behind. Her head resting on her daughter's, trying to soothe the raw emotions that she was experiencing.

"Then he is a fool, darling," She assured her, "And you are better off not being his wife." She kissed Cersei's head, "Distance can be its own cruelty."

Cersei didn't speak up right away, letting the heartbeats of silence stretch on between mother and daughter, as she composed herself. "I was stupid," she looked over her shoulder at her, "I won't be stupid again."

Joanna smiled down at her, "You will consider yourself fortunate, Cersei. Prince Daeron is handsome," her smile turning impish as she nudged her daughter's shoulder, "Do not try to deny it. You cannot fool me," her gentle ribbing brought a giggle out of her, and it was a peal of delight that filled her with happiness.

"Mother," she said when the giggling subsided, sounding flustered at the sensitive nature of the talk before them.

"Oh, Cersei, I was young once," Joanna dismissed her daughter's half hearted protests, "But I will not press the matter," winking down at her, "He is kind and charming, and a skilled fighter."

"He is," Cersei's tone had an odd touch to it that Joanna couldn't quite place.

She put that aside and continued, "The gods have put you on a different path to walk. Perhaps, it is with Prince Daeron that you'll find contentment, that you'll find respect."

Cersei responded with silence, whether she was mulling over her words or sulking at the glories lost to her, Joanna wasn't sure. However, she knew she needed to stamp out the latter or any hope of a blossoming betrothal between her daughter and Prince Daeron will surely die in its infancy.

"Cersei," She coaxed her daughter, "You must let Rhaegar go," She spotted the hesitance that lingered in her daughter's gaze, stubbornly clinging to a hope that wasn't there. "Please, child, for your sake."

"I will, Mother," Cersei said quietly.

\--------------------------------------------------

Jaime:

Cersei is traveling to Dorne.

The letter had come from his mother and had been delivered to him at his chambers within the Water Gardens. It now remained crumpled in his hand as he mulled over its contents. It was brief and vague in case it was intercepted or read by unwanted eyes, but it was loud and clear to him what he must do.

Ingratiate his sister with Prince Daeron to ensure a relationship can take root.

He put the letter to the nearby candle that rested on his table. He watched it burn while his father's voice echoed in his head.

Family must always come first.

He sighed. Understanding what was to come and the role he needed to play but it didn't make it any less difficult. The Prince may not have been family, but Jaime considered him a brother.

"Jaime?"

He looked over his shoulder to see the welcomed sight of Elia walking towards him. His family and schemes were fleeting in the face of the enchanting princess. He got to his feet to greet her.

"Hiding in your room?" She teased, "Are you afraid of the sun?"

"Not afraid," he grinned, "I'm in awe of it." He kissed her. His desire for her only growing at her contenting sighs and teasing touches.

"Jaime," she whimpered in between their kisses. Her hands sliding beneath his tunic, her fingers skimming across his skin, a searing touch that left him wanting more.

"My Princess spoils me," He said breathlessly when he pulled away from their heated embrace. A reluctant action but a necessary one, as he was expecting his brother shortly.

Her dark eyes shimmering amorously, "My lion is good to me." She kissed his cheek.

He breathed in her intoxicating scent. She smell of lemons and desire. The impulse to continue their kiss grew and burned within despite his efforts to stem them. He took her hand and led her to the table where Dornish wine awaited them. "Have you heard from Ashara?"

"I haven't," Elia frowned in her answer, "They should've reached Starfall by now."

The they were Jaime's friends, Robert and Eddard. The two had accompanied Prince Daeron from Storm's End and had feasted a night at Sunspear with Prince Doran before continuing their voyage to Starfall. It was there where Ned was going to ask Lord Dayne for Ashara's hand in marriage.

Jaime poured them each a glass of the wine. This was a strongwine vintage and one of the few Dornish wines that he liked. He handed her a glass, "I'm certain they've been too busy feasting and celebrating the betrothal and have forgotten to write." The excuse felt hollow even to his ears.

Elia sent him a skeptical look that revealed she too felt his words sounded weak.

"I'm sure we'll hear from them soon," Jaime tried a different approach, taking the seat beside his own betrothed. "Lord Dayne would be a fool to deny Ned."

She took his words in silence as she sipped her wine. "Let us pray you are right."

"When am I wrong, Princess?"

"Too often," Her smile dampening her rebuke.

He laughed, "Your wit is as sharp as your brother's spear, my lady."

"Sharper," she corrected.

Jaime looked down at his untouched glass of strongwine, taking a small sip and savoring the sweet taste that came with it. "How is Oberyn liking his potential bride?"

A party from the Reach had arrived a few days ago. It had been Oberyn's ideas and not of his older brother and ruling prince, Doran. So it came as a surprise to all when he announced that he invited Mace Tyrell's sister to the Water Gardens with the intentions of considering a possible betrothal between himself and the Lady Tyrell.

As an outsider to Dornish politics even Jaime saw it as a smart match. A betrothal between a Lady of Highgarden and a Dornish prince could help to soothe past bitter rivalries between the Reach and Dorne.

"You don't know?" Elia frowned, "He never told you?"

"Who?" Jaime felt the frustration bubbling up. "Never told me what?"

"Lady Mina, she isn't for my brother." Elia answered simply, "She's Prince Daeron's paramour."

"Wait, what?" Jaime didn't understand.

"She is his secret paramour," Elia said sympathetically, sensing his hurt and confusion upon not knowing earlier.

"How did you know?"

"Oberyn cannot keep secrets from me," she shrugged, "Besides Oberyn getting married?" She sounded amused, "He has no intention of committing such folly."

"I didn't know," He mumbled, unable to deny the hurt that came with it. He thought Daeron a brother, and yet when he needed to confide a secret, it was Oberyn not Jaime he turned to.

Is he wrong? The thought came to him, as soft as a whisper, Your family wants him with your sister, who would you choose? His happiness or your family's?

Jaime frowned at being confronted with that truth. It was a touch that broke from his musings, looking down to see the soft, tanned hands of his betrothed atop his. His eyes found her face, where she sent him a look of understanding. In seeing her he didn't have the energy to care about his family's plotting and his father's schemes. That didn't matter to Jaime which prompted him to ask.

"Does she make Prince Daeron happy?"

"Yes."

"Good."

She smiled towards him, "You're a good friend, Jaime," She squeezed his hands, "Prince Daeron loves you as a brother. Please don't see this as a slight of his trust towards you."

He returned her smile. His spirit was buoyed by her words, finding himself so grateful at having a betrothed who cared so much. Despite her supposed fragility that never stopped her from being his rock. Her compassion made her stronger than Jaime thought he'd ever be.

"Auntie Elia!" A delighted squeal broke the comfortable silence that had fallen on the betrothed couple.

The two turned to see Tyrion waddling into the room. His mismatched eyes were solely set on the Princess of Dorne. He had a bright smile as he approached her, "Auntie Elia, are you coming with us to the fountains?"

Auntie Elia, Jaime couldn't help but grin at the name. His younger brother spent much of his time here with Doran's daughter, Princess Arianne and Oberyn's bastard daughter, Obara, both of whom called Elia their Aunt. Not wanting to be let out, Tyrion started to call her that too.

Elia took to the name with delight, "Tyrion," She stood up to greet him.

His younger brother usually so shy and reserved in the presences of strangers. That quickly changed during his brief time at the Water Gardens and being around Princess Elia. Like the sigil of her house, her warmth melted away his shyness, showing him nothing but smiles and kindness and in doing so earned the affection of a timid boy and securing her place in Jaime's own heart.

She scooped him up and kissed his cheek much to his joy. "How is my favorite Lannister?"

"We're gonna play in the fountains," he answered, savoring the fondness she showed him.

"Who's we?" Jaime took his brother from Elia's arms, knowing that the weight could be troublesome for her if she held him too long.

Jaime got his answer not from his brother but by the loud intruders who allowed themselves into his room. Tyrion squirmed in Jaime's grip at their arrival, clearly favoring being with them. He put his fidgeting brother down just as Princess Arianne and Obara began circling Jaime's legs. The girls were three, younger than Tyrion, but that never stopped them from acting as if they were his older sisters instead, something that his brother didn't seem to mind.

"Auntie Elia," Obara greeted her, "Are you coming with us?"

"Yes, Auntie?" Arianne turned to her as well, "please?"

"Am I invisible?" Jaime was dramatically looking around the room to see if he could be seen. His performance garnered laughs from the children.

"No, Uncle Jaime," Arianne answered quickly.

Despite them only being betrothed and not married that didn't stop the children from calling him uncle. It was something that Oberyn actively encouraged. Jaime didn't mind it, he liked it as it served as a reminder of his pending union with Elia. "Then why aren't you asking me?"

"Because," Obara said as if it was obvious, "We know you're coming."

Jaime laughed, admiring their confidence, and realized they had a point. He always folded to their requests and it seemed it hadn't gone unnoticed.

Elia was giggling from where she stood. Holding Tyrion's hand while her nieces were tugging at the skirts of her dress. "Well, of course, I couldn't leave my lions in the company of such dangerous beauties?"

Obara and Arianne cheered. They exchanged grins before racing each other towards the fountains. The servants that were tasked with watching them were forced to follow them, hopelessly calling back to them to slow down.

"We shan't let them beat us," Jaime picked up Tyrion, who encouraged it with a laugh, "What do you say brother?" He carefully placed him atop his shoulders, "Shall we try to catch them?"

"Yes!" Tyrion exclaimed, his stubby hands clinging tightly to Jaime.

"We shall need a Princess' blessing?"

"Is that right?" Elia asked with a knowing grin.

"Of course," Jaime insisted, "It's only proper."

"Proper!" Tyrion echoed happily.

Elia shook her head, but her smile never left her face as she approached the Lannister brothers. "Well only because its proper."

He bent down so she could reach Tyrion, who was thrilled when she kissed both his cheeks for his blessing.

Jaime cleared his throat, grinning as he did.

Elia rolled her eyes, "Jaime," she murmured softly, "You will always have my blessing," She promised him, before kissing his lips. It was a brief but intoxicating touch, that ended far too abruptly when Tyrion yanked at his hair.

"Come on, Jaime!" Tyrion reminded him, "Before it's too late."

"Very well," The touch of her lips remained a distraction on his mind. As did the playful smirk she gave him when it was over. He stymied the groan, knowing there would be time for future pleasure with his betrothed.

But right now he had a race to win.

\-------------------------------------------

Prince Doran's table that night was loud and crowded but Jaime had gotten use to it during his stay at the Water Gardens. He enjoyed the intimate setting where the prince and his wife hosted their meals, allowing the children to sit with them, both noble and bastard. That night they supped on lamb that had been seasoned with honey, lemon, and fiery peppers. It was served with grape leaves stuffed with raisins, onions, mushrooms, and fiery dragon peppers. To wash it down was an array of Dornish wines, red and strongwine.

The sweet and spicy foods of Dorne was something Jaime was still trying to get his stomach to accommodate to. The richness of the food and the variety of flavors ranging from sweet to bittersweet, and spicy to sweat inducing levels of hot and zesty. This meal was no different. He was never quick with his food, sampling and measured bites to get himself adjusted to the diverse palates that Dorne offered. He was also quicker with his wine, depending on it to help swallow some of the more difficult tastes that he had trouble finishing.

All around him conversations were happening, laughing and talking, as the guests talked among themselves, sharing and joining others in mid discussion. It was loud, but Jaime found a comfort in the noise, the closeness of the Martell family was warm and he had to admit he enjoyed the atmosphere it created. It was a stark contrast to his family meals at the Rock which he enjoyed, but the intimacy wasn't the same to this. Discipline and etiquette was still expected even if it was just them eating in the Hall.

Even as he nibbled at the lamb, he overheard a particular bawdy story Oberyn was telling to the Lady Mina, his brother, and Prince Daeron. Its ending made Jaime nearly cough up his food while silently praying his brother hadn't heard the story or worse repeat it to their mother upon their return to the Rock.

Daeron was grinning when it was over. "You'd make a wonderful bard, Oberyn with such ribald tales."

"Really?" Elia asked, turning to her brother, "I always thought he'd be more fitting as the fool," She winked at him. Her jest earning laughs from Daeron and Mina, even Prince Doran's usual stoic demeanor cracked at his sister's mirth, chuckling along.

Oberyn paid her insult no mind, "My sweet sister always so supportive of me."

That ensued into familiar bickering as the Prince and Princess traded harmless japes back and forth. Prince Doran looked on, more resigned then surprised at the antics of his younger siblings. However, his eyes held nothing but affection for them while watching the interplay between them.

This night knowing the truth had Jaime more observant to the behavior of the secret paramours. He watched and scrutinized their words and movements trying to detect any sort of fondness or passion they allegedly had for one another. They were friendly but not overtly so, polite to one another, with innocent exchanges that followed. It appeared they seemed more disinterested, choosing to have conversations with those around them instead of each other.

It seemed so telling now to Jaime, but he was looking for it. When he hadn't, it hadn't raised his suspicion or caught his interest. It was a subtleness to it that didn't cause the person's attention to linger on the indifference they showed one other.

This was Cersei's unexpected rival, he studied the Lady Tyrell in a new light. She was wearing a green sleeveless dress that showed glimpses of skin that had once been pale, that had now begun to tan under the sun. Golden embroidery weaved throughout her dress. She wore a chain around her neck with golden rose petals. Her hair was brown and dangled loosely around her face.

He must've been staring too long for his gaze didn't go unnoticed, Mina turned his way, her bright blue eyes were on him. "Tell me Jaime, the Prince mentioned you sparred the day before."

The prince, before he knew, he would've thought she was referring to Oberyn, but now he couldn't be sure.

"We did," he confirmed, realizing other conversations were dying down as more heads were turning towards him and Lady Mina.

"How did you fare?"

"He won!" Tyrion answered enthusiastically much to the amusement of those around the table.

"The first one, he did," Daeron smiled towards Tyrion, "But I bested him the next two."

"And the last one, Prince?" Jaime couldn't resist.

"It was inconclusive."

Jaime snorted, "That's what you call a defeat?"

Daeron shrugged, "The perks of being a royal prince, my friend."

"Indeed," Jaime chuckled, and he wasn't alone in the mirth as it rippled up and down the table.

In laughing with the Prince, Jaime didn't need to think about secrets and schemes, he could just enjoy the friendship even if the feeling felt fleeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm aware of Obara's past and how she chose/joined Oberyn at an older age then this fic portrays. This is a liberty on my part, so hopefully it doesn't bother you too much. Also another reminder ages have been altered to better fit this AU story.
> 
> I know I said in the chapter before that we'd get Rhaella's reaction to her sons' duel, but I didn't like any of the ideas that came from it, so in the end I decided to table it and move forward with the story. Once I did I found the chapter easier to write. We'll get her thoughts/reactions through future reflections and flashbacks. I hope no one minds. 
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for your patience and support,
> 
> -Spectre4hire


	13. Paramour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to thank RJG, zanielneko, and PointGiven for taking the time to leave a comment. I appreciate it.

279 AC

Daeron:

To Mace Tyrell,

I'm writing to inform you that I've…

Daeron stopped when he heard a sound. He looked over his shoulder to see Mina was readjusting under the blankets of the bed, but still looked to be asleep. He couldn't help but smile as he admired her form, even after all these mornings together, he still couldn't get use to this sight.

Satisfied, that she wouldn't wake, Daeron turned his attention back to the letter he tried to draft. This was not his first attempt, he had lost count at how many he had begun these past few days. Even now in the early morning light, he wasn't certain of this approach. He cared for her, but they had agreed not to seek a betrothal between them.

However circumstances were beginning to creep up towards him now that he was so near to his ten and six name day. Families were approaching and inquiring about his marital status as if just discovering his existence now that his older brother was married. Daeron was nearly a man grown who'd be able to make his own choice, but until then that responsibility rested in his father's hands. He was no fool in thinking that once he was a man grown that he'd be free to chose who he wished to marry. He knew he needed the Crown's blessing. He knew that he'd be used as a pawn to further his father's plans regardless of Daeron's age or consent.

I am chained to the schemes and caged in the plots of my family and the Crown.

It was with these disquieting thoughts and revelations that urged him to consider putting aside his agreement with Mina and seek her hand in marriage. A selfish solution, he knew, but one that became more tempting the longer he remained unattached and the target of familes' ambitions.

Wasn't it better to marry a friend than a stranger?

He turned back to his letter to the Lord of Highgarden and Mina's brother, Mace Tyrell.

To Mace Tyrell,

I'm writing to inform you that I've grown fond of your sister in the short time I've come to know her during her unexpected visit to Sunspear. That is why I find myself writing to you to broach the subject of a possible betrothal between myself and your lovely sister, the Lady Mina Tyrell.

He read it over, and when he finished, he rolled it up but he put it into the flickering flame of the candle that was beside him.

While he watched it burn, he imagined the answer her brother would've given, but then he heard the answer she'd tell him. It was a disappointment he didn't want to confront so he enjoyed it for what it was-a distraction.

"Morning," she stirred from her sleep.

"Morning," he replied in turn, his eyes on the flame that burned away any evidence of his momentary weakness and lapse of judgment. Satisfied, that it was gone, he turned to see she was sitting up. Her honey curls were a dangling mess falling over her face. Her silk shift was a pale green that seemed to only accentuate her curves.

She took a vial that had been in one of the drawers by her nightstand, opening it and drinking its contents in a one sip. When she emptied it, her eyes found him, even the early morning couldn't dim the light in her laughing blue eyes. "To prevent any Blackfyres," she quipped, putting away the vial.

"Are you hungry?"

"I have other thoughts for sating my appetite," she purred when she reached him, her breath tickled his ear, her sultry tone stirring Daeron's own hunger. She then leaned over him, aware of how her body touched his as she grabbed an apple from the bowl.

It was tempting. His body was already betraying him, reacting to her beauty and her touches. However, he knew he shouldn't, he couldn't. Daeron had to return to his chambers before the servants or his guards discovered he wasn't there.

Before he could give her a proper reply, she spoke again.

"What is it that you were doing?"

The change in her tone caused him to frown. He looked to see her alert blue eyes were looking down at the scraps of parchment, he had spread out before him. "I was writing."

"To who?" The suspicion in her voice was palpable.

In the heartbeat of silence that it took him to answer, he debated on whether to lie or not before settling on the truth, "Your brother."

"My brother," she repeated, dismay flickered across her expression, "You were writing to him about a betrothal." It was an accusation.

"I was," Daeron stood up. "I didn't send it," he noticed how she went tense and stiff at the revelation. "I have not forgotten our agreement."

That seemed to placate some of her temper that looked to be storming behind her blue eyes, "Then why did you write it?"

"Because if I am to be wed then I'd rather be wed to you then some stranger."

"Do you think we'd be happy?"

"Yes."

She smiled at him, but it was a sad smile, her eyes shone with sympathy. "We wouldn't," she said softly.

"My brother would poison what we have, what we cherish," she took his hand in hers, "Don't you see what you'd be to him? You'd be his prized possession. His dragon on display. How he'd love to parade you out at feasts and tourneys so that all the lords could see you. You'd be no better than those dancing bears that the smallfolk love so much," her lips curled in disgust at what she envisioned for them.

"Soon, my brother's ambition wouldn't be sated with just having a good brother as a Targaryen. No he'd turn to our children and wonder at how they'd look upon the Iron Throne instead of Rhaegar's." She shook her head, eyes wet with tears. "I love my brother, but I care too much for you to let my brother's ambition reach us," She bowed her head, "You deserve better than that, my prince."

Daeron mulled her words in silence, finding it difficult to poke past her reasoning. He didn't know Lord Tyrell, so how could he argue against his own sister when it came to knowing the man's heart and intentions. "I understand," He wasn't sure what else to say, and those words alone tasted just as bitter as the rejection he just faced.

"I'm sorry," she ran her hand over his cheek, blue eyes glistening, before she turned away and took a breath to compose herself. "This day has not been kind to you, my prince," she said softly, "And it's only just begun," her laugh that followed sounded more a hiccup than a chuckle.

"It started well enough," he assured her, his hands resting on her hips as her back remained to him.

She laughed, and this time it pealed with mirth, and when she looked over her shoulder, there was no trace of tears. Her eyes shined and her lips formed that impish smirk which he enjoyed so much. "How did it start again, my prince?"

He smiled at her mischievous tone, "I'll show you."

\-----------------------------

"Your friend knows."

Daeron looked up from his meal, not entirely surprised to see Lady Mina had invited herself into his chambers. She was standing where the discrete entryway was. Oberyn had given them rooms where it'd be easy for them to slip back and forth without guards or chaperones being any wiser.

He had just returned from the training yard after a tiring morning routine with Ser Gwayne. "Please, join me," he stood up to greet her, "It isn't much. I only told them to prepare for one." It was a light course of fruit and bread with some wine.

"Thank you," she flashed him a smile as she moved to sit across from him. "Did you tell your friend?"

"I didn't." It had been a challenge not to tell Jaime, but Daeron thought it the wisest choice.

"He was staring at me the whole night," She popped a grape into her mouth.

"Mayhaps, he was mesmerized by your beauty," Daeron offered.

"In front of his betrothed?" She challenged, but the playful smile on her lips revealed that she was flattered by his words, "The lion would never shy away from his princess."

Daeron chuckled, agreeing with her observation. "I shall speak with him," he hoped Jaime would understand. "To see if you are right," he added when he noticed she was about to object.

"I am right," she said pointedly, but the teasing hue in her eyes belayed her tone.

"Of course, my lady," he bowed, feigning deference which earned a laugh from his paramour.

The mirth didn't last, her smile dipped and her eyes lost some of the spark that had just been present. "I fear I need to tell you something, my prince," her tone was somber, "I am leaving for Highgarden in a few days."

Daeron frowned, he knew they couldn't hide away in Dorne forever despite the temptations, "I expected as much."

"It isn't that, my prince," her soft solemn words broke through, "I received a raven from my brother this morning. I am betrothed."

The strawberry that had been in his hand had been instinctively crushed. "I see," he wiped away the residue of the crushed fruit from his hands and table. "We knew this day would come." He struggled to maintain his stoicism at this reeling revelation.

"We did." Her voice was tight.

He looked anywhere but her. Daeron worried how his will would crumple if he was to look upon her. He busied himself with his meal, cutting up bread. "Is it a good match?" His throat felt as dry as the Dornish desert.

"It's Lord Paxter Redwyne."

"That is a very good match," he observed. Paxter Redwyne was the Lord of the Arbor. He controlled the largest fleet in Westeros and their wines made the family one of the wealthiest in the Seven Kingdoms.

"It is," she repeated quietly.

"I wish you and your groom nothing but good fortune and happiness."

"Look at me."

He wanted to refuse her request. He should've demanded that she leave, but he didn't. He looked to see her face wrought with concern, "Do not be so formal with me." There was a pleading look in her blue eyes.

"You are betrothed. It would be improper."

"You sound as if I came into your bed a blushing maiden," she laughed at that, "We cannot undo what we did, nor would I chose to," she admitted, "I doubt he'll expect the sheets to be red."

"And if he does?"

She shrugged, undeterred, "I've been riding for years," Her lips curved into an impish smile when she added, "But only recently has it been dragons."

Daeron laughed at her boldness. He found his anger fleeting in the face of her beauty, in the allure of her company. Despite his thoughts of her newly announced betrothal, he couldn't deny his own more selfish and base feelings that were louder than all the others. He couldn't turn her away with her remaining time being so brief. So it was to his primal needs he gave into instead of the polished ones expected from a prince.

\-------------------------------------

Jaime:

"Are you watching, Uncle Jaime?"

"I am," he assured his future nieces. They were running and playing in a nearby fountain with Tyrion between them. He chuckled when Arianne and Obara began performing some sort of spinning contest with Tyrion clumsily trying to stay out of their way, while still remaining close.

It was a beautiful palace with lush gardens and sprawling pools and fountains that served as a private retreat to House Martell. He had forgotten in his lessons from Maester Desmond why or who built it, but he was thankful for it all the same. In the weeks that followed since he arrived, he walked every pink marble path, visited every garden, hid under any shade he could find to escape the sun, as well as taking his brother to every pool and fountain they could find.

"My lion is bronzing," Elia appeared beside him, her delicate fingers touching his cheek.

"Princess," He took her hand and placed a kiss upon her knuckles. His eyes never leaving hers, dark pools that shimmered with longing. He felt his own desires flaring within, hotter than the Dornish sun, but he couldn't forget just how close they were to their nieces.

It was then that he spotted Prince Daeron walking through the gardens on a path towards them. Ser Gwayne Gaunt walked behind him, the prince's sworn shield, and the only member of the kingsguard who accompanied him to Dorne.

"Come," Elia looped her arm through Jaime's, "Let us give your friend some company."

Jaime didn't object. Escorting her towards Prince Daeron Targaryen, who smiled at them as they approached.

"Princess," he kissed her cheek, "My friend is fortunate to have such a beauty all to himself."

"Indeed, I am," Jaime happily agreed, bowing his head to his friend.

"We just need to find a proper betrothed for you, my prince," Elia offered sincerely. "While also shielding you from all the improper ones."

"My Prince, Princess," A new voice broke through their conversation.

Impressive timing, Jaime mused, as the Lady Mina approached them. Despite her surprised look and hesitance to join them, he doubted that this was truly a random encounter.

It was Elia who greeted her first, with a welcoming smile, "Lady Mina, this is a surprise."

Mina returned the smile, "I was looking for your brother, princess," She said, "He promised to show me the Water Gardens."

"My brother departed this morning," Elia was apologetic in explaining Oberyn's absence. "He rode to Sunspear to feast Lord Yronwood before escorting him here where my brother will host him for a few days."

"Ah," she looked surprised at the news. "Forgive me," she bowed her head, "I'll be on my way."

"Nonsense," Elia dismissed that suggestion, "I'd be a poor host to let you stay in your chambers alone."

Mina showed her gratitude with a smile. "You have my thanks, princess."

"Prince Daeron would you be my escort?" Elia moved to stand beside the royal prince, "That is if Ser Gwayne permits it?"

A smile bloomed beneath the knight's bushy mustache, "I do, princess."

Jaime hid his frown upon knowing what that meant for him. Instead of walking the Water Gardens with his lovely betrothed, he now was tasked with escorting a stranger. He knew Elia took Daeron so no gossip could begin about the prince and Lady Mina. However, that didn't mean Jaime had to like it.

"My lady," He offered his arm to her.

"My thanks," She put her hand on his as they set off together.

They walked a circular path that would allow them to keep an eye on the children, who were happily distracted playing in the fountains with one another. He kept his attention on the back of the prince's head instead of the lady beside him. Jaime strained to hear their conversation especially when it prompted laughter from his betrothed.

"Your brother is quite clever."

"He is."

"He mentioned several of my ancestors, and I'd wager he knows more about them then my own brother, the Lord of Highgarden," Mina laughed, a light lilt that held more warmth than Jaime expected.

Jaime found himself smiling, "Tyrion enjoys reading."

"Yes, he mentioned that," Mina sounded amused, "He also mentioned that your sister is coming to Dorne."

The suddenness and the boldness of her words made Jaime nearly stumble, but he regained his composure believing he let nothing slip past. "She is." He had told Tyrion a day or so ago to try to soften the ache that the inevitable departure would have on him. It seemed Mina had wormed the truth out of his brother, and that image angered Jaime more then he could say.

"Curious," Mina's voice carried a cadence to it that Jaime couldn't quite place the meaning behind.

"Is it?" He shrugged.

Jaime knew he needed to be careful, he was speaking to the Prince's paramour. She would be Cersei's rival to any potential betrothal between his friend and his sister. Mina already had the advantage of sharing the Prince's bed.

"She is betrothed isn't she?" Mina asked politely.

"She isn't," Jaime corrected, looking towards her for the first time. She looked back at him, a veneer of primness while her eyes sparkled as if to display her honest intentions. He wasn't fooled for a second, especially as she tried to feign innocence when it came to his sister and her marital prospects.

"Really?" She sounded as innocent as a back alley whore.

"Is it any concern of yours, my lady?" Jaime couldn't stop the brusqueness from seeping into his question. The anger of her deceiving Tyrion, a boy who starved for affection and used that to get information out of him caused his blood to boil.

"Did I pull the lion's tail?" She laughed, "Because that sounded like a roar."

She detected his irritation but found it amusing instead of worrying. "My apologies," he lied. His voice was tight betraying his lingering annoyance. "I'm just protective of my sister."

She patted his arm, "I wish my brother had that same trait."

For the first time in their conversation, Jaime detected an authentic feeling in her voice, and it was bitterness.

"Does your family hope to make a match with the prince?" Her question came as softly as a whisper.

"My sister is here to retrieve my brother, nothing more." He would give her nothing.

"So she is."

Jaime's anger swell in his chest at her insistence. "If you're so concerned with the prince maybe you should speak to your brother." He took satisfaction at seeing his words puncture through the façade she had skillfully kept up.

"I am already spoken for." Her expression revealed neither happiness nor sullenness at her fate.

That surprised him. Jaime's eyes instinctively going towards his friend.

She seemed to read his mind, "He already knows."

Jaime wasn't sure what to say so he kept quiet mulling over this unexpected revelation.

"You should be rejoicing, my lord," she judged his silence for plotting, "Your family has a clear path to him." Her smile was thin when his eyes met hers, a challenging hue as if daring him to say otherwise.

He wanted to rebuke her accusation, but he couldn't. There was a note of truth in her judgment, and he despised himself for it.

Prince Daeron and Princess Elia had stopped, admiring the view of the sprawling gardens and fountains before them. The pair oblivious to what Jaime and Mina had been discussing.

"My ancestor was fortunate to have Prince Maron gift her something so beautiful as these gardens."

"Some of my fondest memories are playing in these gardens as a child with my brother," Elia revealed wistfully.

"Our children shall enjoy these gardens too, princess," Jaime put his arm around her. His words caused her to smile warmly up at him.

"Our children," she repeated fondly, "I like that."

He kissed her forehead, holding her close.

"If only all women were as blessed as the Princesses Daenerys and Elia when it came to their future husbands and their compassion for their prospective brides," Mina's blue eyes showed them nothing when she looked at them, "Thank you for your hospitality, Princess Elia, but if you'll excuse me, I shall retire." She left without another word or look in their direction.

Jaime glanced over to his friend, Prince Daeron stood silently, his eyes betraying his heart as they lingered on her retreating form. "Ser Gwayne?"

"Yes, my prince?"

Daeron turned to the knight. His face stoic. "I believe it is time for our sparring."

"Of course, my prince," Ser Gwayne moved to stand beside him.

"And try to make it a challenge this time," Daeron added, a smile slipping onto his lips.

"I suppose I can humble you, my prince, as well as protect you."

Daeron laughed, "That is why you are a knight of the kingsguard, ser." He then turned to them, "Thank you for the tour of the gardens, Princess."

"It was my pleasure."

He nodded in her direction before turning to Jaime, "Can I count on your appearance in the yard later?"

"You can, my friend," Jaime bowed his head.

Daeron smiled. He then left the Water Gardens with Ser Gwayne at his side.

"Love can be cruel," Elia murmured softly.

Jaime didn't have any wise words to add so instead he wrapped his arm around his betrothed. It proved the right choice as she leaned into him. He savored that feeling of her body against his, and he pressed a kiss into her hair. They stood their quietly, and he found himself thankful that he didn't have to sneak around to be with the woman that he loved.

\-------------------------------------------

"I know."

Jaime was too sore and tired to be anything but blunt. However, he had been smart enough to wait to speak until after he and Prince Daeron were in the latter's chambers.

They had sparred for what felt like hours and the hot Dornish sun had been merciless. By the end, Jaime could barely hold his sword. He had lost count how many fights they had had and how many had been won or lost.

He collapsed into a nearby chair, thankful to be out of the heat.

There was no denial from the Prince. Nor was there an attempt to see what it was Jaime was referring to. He handed Jaime a glass before taking a seat across him. "Princess Elia told you."

"She did," Jaime confirmed, I wish it had been you, he wanted to add, but he kept silent. He took a long sip of his wine, thankful for the cool and soothing taste as it went down smoothly.

"You must think me a bad friend."

"That thought stayed for a time," Jaime was honest.

Daeron smiled, a soft chuckle followed, "I am sorry. I did not think it wise to share."

"You told Oberyn." It came out more as an accusation then what Jaime intended.

"He got me drunk," Daeron shrugged when he saw Jaime's incredulous look. The Prince then took a sip of his Dornish red. "That was how he found out, and when he did, he sent out the invitation. I told him not to, but he wouldn't listen," Daeron's tone was filled with appreciation even when he tried to convey his disapproval.

"Does her family know?"

"No," Daeron answered quickly, "No one knows save for you, Elia, and Oberyn," he looked down at his glass, "And I suspect Prince Doran too. He hasn't said anything, but he is very smart and very observant."

"Will you seek a betrothal?"

"No," There wasn't sadness in the Prince's tone just resignation. "This isn't for our families, but for us." He revealed, "There's a certain bliss in the selfishness of it. It being a secret only makes it more enjoyable." He winked at him, smirking as he did.

Jaime grinned, but held up his hands, "That I don't need to know."

Daeron laughed, but the mirth didn't last. He sobered after only a few heartbeats, "Besides all that, I'm not a very ideal match."

"You're a prince," Jaime sounded stupid pointing out the obvious.

"With no lands and a hollow title," He laughed, this time there was no joy only bitterness. "All of what I get is due to the generosity of my father and after him it'll be my brother, Rhaegar." He made a face showing he didn't expect much of his situation. "She should be a lady of an important castle, with me all she can be is a Princess of a Hedge." he admitted sourly. "That is all I am."

"You're more than that," Jaime wouldn't let his friend dwell on such melancholy thoughts.

"Thank you," Daeron finished his glass, standing up when he did and moved over to get some more.

"I heard about her betrothal," Jaime watched his friend stiffen. His back was facing him, and the prince poured himself another generous amount of wine.

"It is a good match for a second daughter." Daeron didn't make to join Jaime back at his seat. Instead he remained standing, drinking as he did. He placed his glass on the table, the clang of it announcing that it had been emptied.

"Are you still…" Jaime struggled with how best to ask the delicate question.

"Fucking her?" Daeron looked over his shoulder towards him. His smile was sharp and there was a certain glint in his lilac eyes. "I am."

"Even though she's now betrothed," Jaime tried his best not to sound judgmental.

"Don't worry it's not as if I'm not going to run away with her."

"That thought hadn't crossed my mind," Jaime stood from his seat, ignoring the protesting soreness of his legs.

"I'm just enjoying the offered fruit before it's sold and delivered."

Jaime snorted at that description. "It sounds so charming and irresistible when you put it that way."

Daeron chuckled, pouring Jaime another glass of the strongwine. He nodded his thanks to the prince while also noticing that Daeron had poured himself another glass of the Dornish red.

Jaime nursed his silently. The second glass tasted better than the first, sweet and cool as it went down.

"Have you heard at all from Ned?"

"No," Jaime was thrown by the unexpected question. "Have you?" He saw his friend's posture change, he stood more rigid and the grip of his glass tightened.

"No, I have not." He drank the rest of his newly refilled glass quietly. When he finished, he dispelled a breath, and put the cup down. "I feared as much."

It was more the tone of his friend's statement then the words itself that caught Jaime's interest. "What do you mean?"

"I did not ask for it because I do not want it. It first came to me from my mother, and I prayed it was a rumor and nothing more, but the silence out of Starfall condemns me to the truth."

"Truth? What truth?" He was taken aback by the prince's flustered tone.

"Lord Dayne is pursuing a betrothal between myself and his sister, Ashara."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To those who've supported this story by dropping a comment: thank you, to those who don't: I ask that you please reconsider. It would mean a lot to me.
> 
> -Spectre4hire


End file.
